Enough
by britt-lipy
Summary: Chapter 30 Uploaded After a number of bodies show up in the Gotham area, two FBI agents are called in but neither the GCPD nor the batclan are welcoming them with open arms. Well, except for Nightwing but you’ll have to read to see why that is.
1. Gotham City

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
Alright, I finally went through this story, seeing as how I seriously need to write more ... but I decided to go through everything I have already written and make minute corrections. So, I don't think anything big actually changed, but just little things, like spelling, punctuation, and other little things. Anyway, I hope to get up the rest of the story up in a somewhat timely manner, but judging by my previous issues, I can't promise anything. Sorry.  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
Gotham City.  
  
It was even more impressive at night than during the day. The city shone brightly along the black horizon as the airliner began its decent. Special Agent Elizabeth Thomas slid the sheet of plastic over the small window. She didn't want to be here. The only other time in her entire life that she had been in Gotham was when she was seventeen. She hoped this trip would be better. The captain's voice rang overhead as if some sort of omnipotent being, announcing their decent, the time, the temperature and other equally unimportant facts. Agent Thomas wasn't listening. She leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, closed her eyes, and sighed.  
  
If there was anything she hated more than Gotham herself, it was having to fly there.  
  
Walking toward baggage claim, her gun, in an arm holster, rubbed against the inside of her forearm. She didn't like guns, but oddly, here, in this city, it made her feel better. Safer. Unlike DC, Gotham was dark. But it wasn't the shadows that scared her so much, it was the freaks that made it their sanctuary.  
  
Like Batman.  
  
Most people didn't even believe he existed. A myth, a fairytale, although not like prince charming fairytales, no, more like the Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm fairytales. For a long time Agent Thomas believed the Batman to be something that was told to the super-freaks' spawn to make them eat their vegetables, or maybe to even give the hopeless a little hope. But not anymore. She knew he was real, and so where his followers. The Batgirl and that bird boy.  
  
Or rather man now, she thought with an odd grin.  
  
She shook her head not allowing whatever thought was coming to manifest itself.  
  
Stepping out onto the street in front of the airport, she hailed a cab. It wasn't raining yet, but the clouds above were threatening a downpour. As she climbed in the back seat, she prayed for the change in weather. It was the only thing in the retched city that she could stand.  
  
She arrived at an amazing hotel only fifteen minutes later. Gotham always seemed to set the FBI up with the best of everything, despite how much the Gothamites hated them. The Gotham City Police Department was the worst. They, above everyone else, hated the involvement of the FBI in anything. Agent Thomas wanted to hate them back, but she just couldn't bring her self to. They were good cops. Probably the cleanest in the US. And that was owed solely to the commissioner.  
  
James Gordon.  
  
She was almost excited for their first encounter the following day. She had read everything she could get her hands on about him, not only because she was going to be working with him, but because he intrigued her. She set her gun on the stand next to the bed. She laughed out loud.  
  
I wonder what the Commissioner would think of a Federal Agent who hated guns, she thought.  
  
The best thing about the hotel room was the bedroom. It was a very spacious room with a wall of windows across from the foot of the bed. Agent Thomas opened the ceiling high French doors just as the first drops of the summer storm hit. The smell that radiated off the city was amazing. She was surprised that one of the biggest cities in America could have the smell of Oklahoma when it rained.  
  
The curtains flapped in the slight breeze that brought more of that fresh aroma into the room. It was nearly midnight and once the lamps were flipped off, the room was completely black, except for a small sliver from a gap in the curtains. She lay in the king size bed with the sheets barely covering her waist, and drifted off into a light sleep. 


	2. A Dead Body

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
Okay, well, I know my chapters are very small, but that's how I wanted it ... don't ask.  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
It smelled like death. Which wasn't all that surprising considering it was a morgue. Nightwing had always questioned the mental stability of anyone working there. Although, that was probably Kettle talking to Pot. He had been sitting above a couple of large cabinets hidden in shadow for nearly twenty minutes. Ignoring the dull pain growing in his legs, he watched the corpse on the table.  
  
The door opened and Nightwing's attention perked. Finally. Two men, both wearing scrubs, entered the room laughing.  
  
"You're sick, y'know that, Curt," the younger of the two said, still chuckling. They both grabbed rubber gloves and put them on.  
  
"What'da we know 'bout this fella?" the other man asked snapping the edge of his glove.  
  
The younger man grabbed a clipboard getting to business. "Uh ... not much. Cops wanted t'keep everything hush hush."  
  
"And so we're just s'posed t'find cause of death?" He grabbed the sheet covering the overweight man and pulled it off. Raising one eyebrow he looked up at his colleague. "Well, I can tell y'what killed 'em without doin' an autopsy."  
  
Nightwing could feel his gag reflex flip into gear. The corpse's head was completely severed. It sat about two inches from his body.  
  
The older man turned his attention back to the body. He looked over to the spot where the head was supposed to be attached.  
  
"It's been completely cauterized. What happened to this guy?" he said directing the question back to his partner.  
  
"Like I said," he explained. "I was given little information. But whatever happened to this guy, it was enough to get the FBI involved. There's gonna' be an agent in tomorrow morning to give us some details, I hope."  
  
That was all Nightwing needed to hear. He wasn't going to be getting any information here. He needed to find this agent.  
  
The night air was refreshing compared to the stale air in the morgue. Once on the roof of the Gotham General Hospital, Nightwing flipped a switch tuning a radio to a special frequency.  
  
"Oracle here," a computerized voice spoke into a concealed earpiece.  
  
"Hey," Nightwing spoke crouching on the edge of the building. "I need some information."  
  
"What'cha need?"  
  
"I need you to see if you can locate a federal agent who would have flown into Gotham in the last couple of days."  
  
"That's it? I thought it was going to be something challenging."  
  
A smiled played on his face just under his mask. "Maybe next time." 


	3. Sacrifices

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
Flying.  
  
There was no greater feeling in the world. To stand at the edge of one of the tallest skyscrapers in Gotham, close your eyes and just jump. Free falling exactly one thousand, three hundred, fifty-six feet is the closest thing any human could get to flying. And it was even more fun in the rain.  
  
Batgirl, which is what she just recently began calling herself, was just about ready to call it a night. It had been very slow in the city. But what did she expect for a Tuesday night? Or Wednesday morning, depending on how you looked at it. So she decided to indulge herself, and fly.  
  
She cut through the air and rain, her cape whipping behind her. It was so loud in her ears it took her a moment or two to realize there was gun fire on the ground instead of in her head. She opened her eyes, and with the utmost precision, pulled a grappling hook and shot it into the air. It caught on the edge of a nearby building. The line went taunt catching her just before hitting the ground.  
  
Street pancake, she had heard Robin refer to it as once. You hit, splat, and you don't get up. They have to use a spatula to get you off the asphalt.  
  
Batgirl smiled behind her mask. She liked Robin.  
  
The imagery he used was always, colorful, for lack of a better word. She was still reveling in how much language could add to things. She would probably have been an English teacher's dream come true. She loved adjectives.  
  
Like chaotic.  
  
Which was the only descriptive word for what was happening on the ground. Batgirl peered over the side of the building she had landed on, looking at two distinctly different groups of men. They were hiding behind cars, corners of buildings, and trashcans shooting guns, 9mm semi-automatics and oozies, if she was correct. Batgirl recognized the colors adorned by one of the groups.  
  
Los Diablos.  
  
They were a local gang, mostly kept quiet. There was a large explosion obliterating a car in the middle of the crossfire. Obviously they weren't keeping quiet anymore. The other group was foreign to Batgirl. They weren't from Gotham. There was silence for a moment, and Batgirl took that as her cue.  
  
Diving off the building she landed on the hood of a car in an alleyway making no sound. She decided to hit the Diablos first but stopped dead. There was a scream. A girl's scream.  
  
A skinny but tall man stepped out into the light across the street with a young Latina in his arms, and a gun to her head.  
  
"Dom, ain't that your girl?"  
  
There was fear in one of the Diablos eyes. He was obviously the leader and everyone waited for him to make his move. But it was the man with the girl who spoke first.  
  
"Drop your weapons or the little bitch gets it."  
  
The man, who Batgirl assumed to be the father of the girl, stood forward, his gun still drawn.  
  
"Let her go ass hole! We have no beef with you!" The man yelled, spit flying from his lips. His left arm was bleeding. Batgirl figured it to be from a grazed bullet.  
  
"Just give us what we want and we'll be gone."  
  
"Never!"  
  
"Fine!" He directed his next sentence to the girl. "Looks like your daddy doesn't love you."  
  
The girl's face lost its hardness and she began to cry silently, pleading with her eyes. There were tears falling from her father's face as well.  
  
"I love you baby. You know that right?"  
  
The girl nodded and then closed her eyes waiting for the trigger to be pulled. Batgirl knew she had to run now or the Latina would die right there in the street.  
  
It took less than a second to get across the street, and even less time to get to the man holding the girl. Coming up from behind, Batgirl kicked high into the air, catching the hand with the gun. His arm flew up, away from the girl's head and the trigger was pulled. The bullet hit the only light in the street leaving it completely dark. With one swift movement, she led with her left leg pushing off the ground as her other foot drove straight into the man's chest. He doubled over releasing his grip on the girl. Before he could get his bearings back, propped on her right leg, she swung around kicking him with her left leg across the chin.  
  
The gunfire rang out again, lighting the street a little. Batgirl grabbed the girl by wrist and pulled her toward another alleyway.  
  
"Batman!" someone yelled and all the gunfire stopped for a second.  
  
Batgirl looked up, and sure enough, there he was cape flying behind him. The bullets from both sides turned to the Dark Knight as they all retreated, scattering.  
  
Batgirl, with the Latina still in tow, spun quickly around when she heard someone land behind her in the alley.  
  
"It's me," said the voice Batgirl recognized as Robin's. "He said to get her out of here. To somewhere safe. Follow me."  
  
Batgirl nodded and pulled the girl behind her, following Robin. 


	4. Information Retrieval

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
Nightwing slipped into the open window of room 1731 of the Ritz Hotel. He shook his head. People should know better, anyone could just climb right into this room. Assuming they had grapnel. And years of experience of breaking and entering.  
  
It took him only a few seconds to find what he was looking for. The laptop was carelessly left on the coffee table in front of the television. He sat on the couch and opened it up. He made sure the sound was off before turning the machine on. It was louder than he thought turning it on. It sounded like a miniature jet engine starting up. He was reminded again how spoiled he was with his equipment. The computer hadn't been turned off, it was only in sleep mode, so the file he was looking for was still open.  
  
This was easy, he thought.  
  
He plugged a small machine into the computer and dialed a number. He turned the radio on again.  
  
"Oracle here," the same computerized voice as before said.  
  
"I'm sending you a file," he whispered. "I'll be by later to pick it up."  
  
"Okay," was the only response.  
  
The small machine read, Transmission Received. He unplugged it and shut the computer, leaving it just as he had found it.  
  
"Got it," the voice spoke again. "See you later, then. Oracle out."  
  
Nightwing glanced around the room looking for any hard copies. Probably in the bedroom, he thought. 


	5. Him

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
Hehehe, yes, the last chapter was REALLY short, but that's ok ... I guess. This one's a little bit longer.  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
Agent Thomas' eyes opened slowly as a low humming noise floated in from the living area. She knew it as the unmistakable sound of her computer. It had been a piece of shit, and she knew it. But she didn't have to pay for it, it was on the government's tab.  
  
She tried to remember if she had turned it off, or even put it in sleep mode. Must not have. She had heard the sound it made many times before, she dismissed it as the screen saver kicking into action. Closing her eyes again she relaxed, listening to the rain outside, the noise from the street below, and then something else.  
  
That wasn't her computer.  
  
She sat up quickly, and as quietly as she could. She grabbed her gun from the nightstand. Straining in the dark, she peeled her eyes. But there was nothing in the bedroom. She pulled the sheets away from her body and stood, her gun pointed in front of her.  
  
Rounding the doorframe out of the bedroom, she almost ran in to the figure.  
  
"Oh shit!" she cursed under her breath.  
  
She and the man, she decided because of the low gasp of surprise and because of his size, went flat against the same wall on either side of the doorframe.  
  
"Look man," she called. "You picked the wrong room to rob. I'm a Federal Agent and I'm armed."  
  
When there was no response she moved. Slowly making her way to the edge of the door she took a deep breath. She spun around the frame gun first, pointing it into the living area. He was there at the exact same time.  
  
With speed she had never seen, he kicked the gun out of her hands and it landed somewhere on his side of the door. Without even thinking she dropped to the floor, supporting herself with her right hand and kicked him with her left leg, just above his ankles, knocking him off his feet. He fell backwards away from her.  
  
They both jumped back to their feet at the same time. She moved for the attack first, flying a right hook straight at his head, but he caught it. He pulled her arm behind her and then up against his body.  
  
He was wearing gloves. This wasn't just some random breaking and entering, she realized just before she grabbed his shoulder. She bent over and threw him over her back. He hit the ground hard. She turned and dove for her gun.  
  
But he was fast. Faster than she was.  
  
He was on her before she could even get close to the firearm. He peeled her off the ground as if he was trying not to hurt her. He flipped her around so she was facing him and then pushed her up against the wall.  
  
Both their eyes widened.  
  
It was him. The boy. Only, older, and in a different costume. But there wasn't a doubt in her mind, it was still him.  
  
By the look on his face, he recognized her too. She had never thought in a million years that she would ever see him again. But here he was, and she was anything but disappointed. 


	6. Unexpected Union

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.   
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related   
  
characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane,   
  
God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not   
  
hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
  
  
Special thanks to my best bud Kelly. Bean, I couldn't have finished this without you (no matter   
  
what you say).  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
***  
  
Nightwing couldn't believe it. It had been almost a lifetime ago when he first met this girl. Only she   
  
wasn't a girl anymore. She was a woman. He looked her up. A woman who wasn't wearing very   
  
much clothing. But despite the attraction to her matured body, it was her eyes that captivated him.   
  
They were still the same. And in those eyes she was asking for something. The same thing she   
  
had been asking for all those years ago. She was asking for someone to save her. For him to   
  
save her.   
  
He had found her desirable all those years ago, and he had seen enough of her to know. For two   
  
years she had been his Lois Lane. He kept tabs on her and was there in the shadows whenever   
  
she needed him. He had even run into her once out of costume by accident, but not in Gotham.   
  
No, she had never returned to the city where it had happened. It was some mall in Hartford,   
  
Connecticut. It was totally by chance that he and Wally West were even in the city, and he had no   
  
idea why she was there. But she was.  
  
That was the last time he saw her. His only joy was knowing that, even though she didn't know   
  
who he was, she had seen him as well. Although not the best first impression, considering what   
  
Wally had done to him.  
  
He couldn't help but smile remembering her face as their eyes met.  
  
Now she was right in front of him, and she was smiling back, but it wasn't the same smile. He   
  
realized what she was going to do only a fraction of a second before she did it. But it was too late,   
  
he had no way to protect himself. She kneed him in the groin, and ran back into the bedroom.  
  
It knocked the air out of him, but it wasn't as painful as it would have been without the costume.   
  
He said a quick thanks to whoever invented Kevlar before running in after her.  
  
Without effort he caught up with her and grabbed her by the shoulders. And without hesitation he   
  
kissed her. At some point during the kiss, his brain began working again and he realized he had   
  
no idea why he was doing this. As he pulled his lips away he left her breathless.  
  
"Wha— … W-what …" she staggered through deep breaths. "What are you doing here?"  
  
He shook his head, realizing he too was breathing heavily, and finally answered. "I don't know."  
  
She tried to move forward, or sideways, or any way away from him, but his grip on her shoulders   
  
was firm. He pressed her against the wall, holding her there.  
  
"Then what do you know?" she asked realizing there was no way she would be able to overpower   
  
him physically.   
  
"All I know … is that I wanna kiss you again."  
  
She didn't speak right away, simply started at him. Blinked, then frowned, as if trying to   
  
understand what he had just said. "Then why don't you?" she asked like the answer had been so   
  
simple.  
  
He ran his left hand up the inside of her nightshirt, stopping just short of her bare breast. Her eyes   
  
dilated as she shivered. If he could have had anything he would have the feel of her soft pale skin   
  
underneath his hands. He grazed her face with his other gloved hand and she closed her eyes in   
  
his touch. He leaned closer and brushed his lips across hers, not kissing her yet.  
  
He pulled back when she whimpered. But looking at her face, he knew she wasn't being impatient   
  
or anxious.  
  
"But you're just a boy," she said not opening her eyes.   
  
No, she was looking for a reason not to want what she was wanting.  
  
"No," he whispered. "I was a boy."  
  
This time she kissed him, and with a confidence he was to say the least, surprised at. She pulled   
  
away after quiet some time. They stared at each other, her into his starlite lenses and he into her   
  
green eyes.  
  
"I can't do this standing up," she gasped through deep breaths.   
  
He smirked, "Actually …"  
  
"Shut up." And she attacked his mouth. Her tongue explored his mouth, dominating the kiss. "The   
  
bed. Now."  
  
***  
  
Special Author's Note: for those of you that have read this, you will realize that this is an unfinished   
  
chapter, but if you haven't and you wish to see the chapter in it's entirety, you will need to go my   
  
website and see it because of it's NC-17 rating. But if you are not of age, or don't wish to view NC-  
  
17 rated writings, just continue to the next chapter, you won't be missing all that much.  
  
Copy and paste for the rest of Chapter 6:   
  
www.angelfire.com/or2/destinysobsessions/Stories/enough--chapter6--part2w.htm 


	7. Two Sides of the Conversation

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content. 

DISCLAIMER:  I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters.  They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics.  Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.

Agent Thomas, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine.  Read but do not hurt.

Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.

Okay, this is a very special chapter, and I don't really know why I picked this format, but I like it … don't know why, and I hope I'm not the only one.

Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like!  And please review!!!

*                                                           *                                                           *

How much longer?

_Six hours._

Six hours?  This isn't going to work.

_Shut up.  It will._

These men can't be trusted.

_Neither can we._

I think we should forget the whole thing.

_Since when do you do the thinking?  And besides, it's already going to happen, no matter what we do._

What about her visit?

_Who's?  Oh, you mean the only person on the planet that would ever come to see you?_

She comes to see both of us.  She likes us.

_No she doesn't._

Then why does she visit?

_…_

Why?

_…If you want to see her so bad, why don't you visit her?_

You want to see her too, admit.

_Alright!  I do.  Now just shut up._

What about the loose ends?

_What loose ends?_

You know we were heard.

_He didn't hear anything._

He's one cell over, he heard.

_Okay, then who's he gonna tell?  And even if he did squeal, who's gonna listen to him?  He's insane, remember?_

Ha.

_Shut up.  Just because you're not the pillar of mental health doesn't mean I'm nuts._

But even so, shouldn't we do something about him?

_What should we do?  Kill him?_

I don't want to kill him.

_I do.  I'd love to rip that stupid shit-eating grin right off his face._

Colorful.

_We'll flip on it.  Bad heads I get to rip his face off with a spoon.  Good heads …_

We leave him be.

_What?!  It was you're idea to do something about him, idiot!_

Like you said, who's gonna believe him?

_Oh, just flip the damn coin!_


	8. Shadows

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who's reviewed this story. You guys are the inspiration.  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
Shadows, everywhere. Sammy Ricco didn't fear very much, but the one thing he did fear, were the shadows. Most gang members loved the shadows. Made disappearing a lot easier. But not Sammy.  
  
Seven years ago things were different. Before Carmella, he didn't have fears. But after Carmella was born, and a very brief run in with the god of shadows himself, his life was changed forever.  
  
That one night made all the difference. It was like some horror flick. Sammy was running, from what he can't even remember, but he was running like hell. He tripped, probably over his own feet, and went face down into the asphalt. And that's when it happened.  
  
It was like the shadows came alive, and swallowed him up. And there was no time to run, no time to scream. He was gone, eaten by the shadow. All he could remember was a fear he had never experienced before, and then a sharp pain in his nose. The next thing he knew he was looking down an arm at a cowl. At Batman. He didn't have to look around to know that he was hanging off of something, something very high. He could hear the sounds of the city below him, far below him. And the only thing between him and the fatal fall was the shadow. It wasn't even a chore for the Batman to hold Sammy out over the edge. He didn't strain or flinch. He was hard as stone.  
  
His words were so simple, yet they spoke magnitudes. "This is my city. Clean up, or get out." And that was it. He brought Sammy back from the edge and left, disappearing into the shadows.  
  
After that, Sammy didn't know how he got home, but when he did, he found out he was going to be a father. Everything changed. And he did clean up. He took on a two rules. One, protect Carmella at all costs. And two, protect his people.  
  
And he did a good job. His parts were probably the safest in lower Gotham. Everyone on his blocks had food, clothing, shelter, and no one messed with them. But with all the changes, one thing stayed the same, their name. Los Diablos. The Devils. That was one thing that never went away from No Man's Land.  
  
Even though he did clean up, he wasn't a perfect. Sammy Ricco never claimed to be a saint. And the last decision he made, he wondered if he had gone too far.  
  
Sitting on the edge of his bed, he held his gun in his sights. He would give it up, everything, to change his choices. But he had to make the decision, and he did. There was no way to go back on it now.  
  
He dropped his head into his hands, trying stop the pain. And in that moment, the figure that had been standing just feet from him, moved, shifting the shadows.  
  
"You were going to let her die."  
  
At the sound of the voice, Sammy jumped up holding the gun out in front of him, prepared to kill whatever he saw. But there was nothing. He flipped around crazily, shaking with fear.  
  
"Didn't even try to stop it."  
  
Sammy's heart felt like it was going to burst. He turned around and around, trying to find the owner of the voice, but he couldn't. It was all around him.  
  
"I want to know . why?"  
  
With the last word, he knew exactly where the intruder was. Right behind him. Just inches away. Sammy whipped around, prepared to shoot, and kill. But he didn't have time. In seconds, the gun was gone, and Sammy was lifted off the ground by the throat. And there he was again. Staring down at that long arm and the cowl.  
  
"Tell me!" the Batman.  
  
"I-I-I-I knew he wouldn't-wouldn't get the chance to-to shoot her. He was right. He-he, Batgirl was there. She stopped him. She-she was there, right when he said she would be."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"You would trust your daughter's life to someone you didn't know?"  
  
"I-I had to. They were gonna kill her."  
  
"Who's 'they'?"  
  
"I don't know. Some guys. She saw something, and now they're after her. Look, you have to protect her."  
  
A knock on his bedroom door took both of their attention. A voice yelled through the door, "Ricky, you ok?"  
  
"I'll be back," Batman growled, and dropped Sammy to the ground.  
  
The door crashed open and three men piled into his bedroom.  
  
"Ricky? Someone in here?"  
  
"No," Sammy said picking himself off the ground. He rubbed his throat looking around the room. "Nothing but the shadows." 


	9. The Burden of Atlas

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
PLEASE DO NOT HURT ME. I do not, let me repeat that, DO NOT know Spanish. And so I used a little translate thingy on the web, so if the Spanish is wrong (which no doubt it is) please let me know and I will be sure to change it. Just please, no one take offense to it. And I quote Bruce Willis from the 5th Element, "I only speak two languages, English and bad English." So again, I apologize for my lack of bilingualness.  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
The Gotham Power and Electric Company had been rebuilt since No Man's Land, with large donations from Wayne Enterprises. But through the false wall on the south side of the building, the room that was down the small flight of stairs remained concealed even from the owners of the building. This hidden room, though not created specifically for it, doubled perfectly as a safe house. And it was probably one of the safest places to be in Gotham County, aside from Wayne Manor and the clock tower. But for the one person it was protecting at the moment, it was the last place she wanted to be.  
  
On the floor, the young Latina, sat with her knees up at her chest, her straight black hair clinging to her face.  
  
"What's your name?" the boy asked.  
  
"Soy un Diablo," was all she answered, speaking quickly in Spanish. And it was spoken mechanically, like that was what she had been told to say if anyone ever asked her anything.  
  
The boy's eyes went narrow in confusion. "Sonya Delabo?"  
  
The girl dressed like Batman shook her head.  
  
"I took Japanese," he said shrugging. He turned back to the trembling figure. He held his hand out to comfort her but she recoiled away from him.  
  
"Robin," the girl bat said, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Time. Give her time."  
  
Robin looked as if he was about to protest when there was a commotion from the other room. A computer was beeping, then a computerized voice floated in to the room.  
  
"Robin! I know you're there. I need your help!"  
  
He took one more glance back at the two girls and left in a hurry. When Batgirl turned back around, the girl was gone. Searching the room quickly, she stopped when she heard sobbing from the bathroom just off the main room they had been in.  
  
It was terrible. Batgirl could understand what this girl was feeling. She knew what it was like to be so young and have so much on her shoulders. She also knew all too well the complications a father can have.  
  
"Oracle needs you."  
  
Batgirl, startled, but covered it quickly. She turned around to see the ominous figure of her mentor. She didn't question him, just glanced in the direction of the bathroom, telling him without words where the girl was. He nodded, and watched her leave the room.  
  
"No voy a decirle cualquier cosa. No sé quiénes usted es." The girl's voice sounded so small echoing off the bathroom wall. She was scared, and knew someone was coming to ask more questions. "No estoy hablando con usted hasta que hablo a mi padre."  
  
Batman looked down at the shivering child. She couldn't have been any older than eight years, if even that. Eight years. He had to help her. He knew what could happen to a child who had experienced a traumatic event at such a young age. He knew it all too well.  
  
"Batman?" she questioned looking up from behind the porcelain.  
  
He nodded silently and kneeled in front of her, trying to make himself at least slightly less imposing. Then she was in his arms, her small hands griping his shoulders. For a moment he couldn't understand. This name, the Batman, it was supposed to strike fear. To paralyze with just a mutter of it. But with this innocent little girl, it brought relief, security, protection.  
  
"¿Usted habla inglés?" Batman whispered, uncharacteristically soft.  
  
The girl buried her head into his chest and she answered him. "Yes."  
  
"They are trying to help. Tell them what they want to know."  
  
It took her a long time to respond, but when she finally did, Batman was taken aback. She spoke with a presence well beyond her age. "I saw something. Something I shouldn't have." 


	10. Regrets

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
Just a little author's side note, because I mention her in this chapter, I would just like to express my views on the Huntress. She is an evil heinous bitch. And I hate her with the burning of a thousands suns. And I do NOT approve of Dick sleeping with her. I mean, come on, even Babs is better than her. Okay, my insane rant is over.  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
"Nightwing."  
  
One of the bodies in the bed moved, then sat straight up. For a moment Nightwing didn't know where he was. Or where the voice was coming from.  
  
"Nightwing," the voice said again. This time he recognized it as the computerized voice of Oracle.  
  
Then all at once, the night's events came back to him.  
  
"Gimme just a second," he whispered.  
  
"Okay," Oracle responded.  
  
It wasn't the first time he had taken a woman to bed with no expectations for a future. But unlike Helena, he truly wished it didn't have to be a one-night stand. But he knew that would be too much to hope for.  
  
He looked over at the sleeping woman in the bed next to him. Her curly brown hair draped across the white of her pillow. He held his hand out over her face. Dick, don't do it, he warned himself. Just leave. Dick, just leave. But a need from somewhere else kept nagging at him. He wanted to just touch her face, run his fingers across her brows.  
  
He clenched his fists. No, he told himself finally, and turned away from her.  
  
Dick you're an idiot, he chastised himself in his head. He climbed out of the bed finding his suit discarded on the floor. Quickly, he put it on. He sighed touching his face. At least his mask was still on.  
  
He scanned the room, his eyes finally landing on what he was looking for. On a table across from the bed, there were two large file folders, one closed, the other open with papers strewn about. Nightwing ran his gloved fingers over the writing, reading quickly. The files were identical. The closed one was the original documents. The open one had to be copies. He grabbed the original file.  
  
With one more glance at the unmoved figure in the bed, he made his way back through the living area and out the open window he had come in. 


	11. The Escape

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
**AUTOR'S NOTE** I've been fighting with myself on whether or not to completely screw up the time line more than I already have, or just leave it as is. I wanted to have the relationship between Bruce and Sasha just before the whole "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series BUT I need Gordon as Commissioner. And as probably you know, if I stick with the timeline as it is, I can't have both. So I leave it up to you guys, the readers, to decided whether or not to screw up the timeline even more and get my chance to build the relationship between Bruce and Sasha, or I just leave it as is, with Alfred living with Bruce instead of Sasha. So you guys decide!  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
It was supposed to be an easy assignment. In and out, Oracle had said.  
  
Boy was she wrong.  
  
Dressed in her turquoise and yellow, Black Canary really wished she had donned her civvies today. Not that her suit wasn't comfortable, actually completely the opposite. It was more comfortable than any civilian wear she had ever owned. And seeing as how she would probably be staring at the same ceiling from the small cot for who knows how long, it should be perfect. But if she had just decided to wear something nice, like a dress suit that showed off just enough leg, maybe she wouldn't be in this mess at all.  
  
Not even JLA clearance could get her out of this one. In fact they only seem to hate her more when she announced it. They actually threw her into a wall. Now that was no way to treat a lady.  
  
She figured they must not like Superman, because it surely couldn't have been her. It had to be him. What kind of a man wears blue spandex?  
  
Lethargically, she threw her arm over her head and peered through the bars of the cell. The young man on the other side of the bars, who despite his handsome face, looked like he hadn't smiled in years. He sat behind a plain wooden desk, never taking his eyes off his prisoner.  
  
"Hey cutie, ain't I supposed ta get a phone call or something?"  
  
The man's eyes squinted into an even more sour face. "No such luck."  
  
She sighed and slumped back onto the cot. There was no doubt in her mind that Oracle would come up with something, but it would be better if she could have some kind of contact with her. At least that way she could have a clue as to how long she was stuck in the cell with no one to talk to, aside from Mr. Personality.  
  
"So, are they just going to leave me in here until I die of boredom? Or are they-" Her remark was cut off prematurely as a loud siren filled the small room. The first sign of emotion crossed the man's face. He jumped out of his chair, almost knocking it over.  
  
A voice came over the walkie-talkie attached to his belt.  
  
"All available personal! Code 5, code 5!"  
  
And without a second thought he ran out of the office leaving the blond captive alone.  
  
"Don't be too long," she called after him. "I might get lonely."  
  
She sighed, her head already beginning to throb from the alarm. Hadn't the government ever heard of silent alarms? Suddenly another beeping noise accompanied the already annoying alarm. Canary cringed, but annoyance suddenly turned to intrigue. The bars imprisoning her retracted leaving the cell opened. Dinah sat up straight and cocked her eyebrow at the lack of restraint.  
  
"Hmm . now doesn't that look tempting."  
  
With a slight hop, Dinah Lance got off of the cot and made her way out of the cell. Momentarily she peered out into the hall leading to the present room. It was going to be like trying to get out of a labyrinth, only the centaurs had guns. She needed help.  
  
She turned back to the desk where the guard was stationed. "I know it's in here somewhere."  
  
Top drawer, middle drawer, bottom. It had to be here somewhere. She had seen one of the Suits put it in this desk. Last drawer, locked. This one had to be it. With one good pull she ripped the drawer out, breaking the lock.  
  
"Never made like they used to be." She rummaged around in the drawer until she found what she was looking. She grabbed the transmitter and put it in her ear.  
  
"You can thank me later," a voice greeted her through the earpiece. Canary smiled knowing Oracle had somehow hacked into the government's 'un- hackable' systems and released her.  
  
"Okay girl, you be my eyes. Get me out of here."  
  
"Not quite yet. I need something from a lab about a hundred yards from your position. Up to it?"  
  
A smile flitted across the Black Canary's lips. "Always." 


	12. Sleep

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
Okay, not really sure if I like this chapter, it took a lot to get it out, which was weird because most of my chapters just come, and this one really didn't. So, sorry if it really is bad.  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
Oracle sat looking at the two pictures on her monitor. Special Agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Elizabeth Monroe Thomas and third generation Latino gang leader Samuel Dominique Ricco. She took another sip of the Jolt Robin had left in her fridge and ran her fingers through her red hair. She glanced over at the digital clock on the desk.  
  
Come on Dick, she thought. I have to be at GCPD at eight. That's in four hours.  
  
As if he could read her thoughts his voice came over the radio. "Whadaya need?"  
  
"Those files in your hands, right now."  
  
"How did you .?"  
  
She smiled. It had actually been a guess that he had even gotten the files, but it was worth her looking foolish for the chance to get the reaction she got.  
  
"I'm psychic." There was a soft laugh on the other end. "But I do need the information in those files."  
  
"Alright, be there in ten." Then there was silence. Barbara Gordon sighed and removed her glasses. With her palms in her eyes, she tried to fight the effects of fatigue, but she knew from years of sleepless nights that is was impossible.  
  
Her arms were even sore, although not as sore as they got on her nights as Batgirl. Oh those were the days. She rolled herself away from her many monitors, and into her apartment. Her couch was already occupied.  
  
Cassandra Kane.  
  
Barbara lightly touched the sleeping girl's forehead, moving her black hair out of her face. She couldn't help but think of how much younger Cassandra was than herself when she donned the cape and cowl. This girl was seventeen and had gone through so much more than Barbara had. She put her hands on her own thighs.  
  
But Cassandra could walk. Could fly through the air. Could have that feeling just before the grapnel went taut. She almost felt jealousy for a moment. She shook her head and went into the kitchen.  
  
"Hey Babs," a boy's voice floated softly into the kitchen. "You're out of soap in the bathroom."  
  
She turned to Robin and sighed, one more thing to worry about. "Thanks."  
  
"No prob." He jumped up on one of the counters, swinging his legs. "I think I'm gonna call it a night, if that's ok with you." Barbara nodded her head. "And I'll come back over right after my classes. Black Canary'll be back in town by then, right?"  
  
"Yeah, she should be. But we're going to need a more sophisticated lab than I have here."  
  
"Check, and double check. The labs in the cave are top notch. I can run any kind of test you want. I'll pick the stuff up tomorrow and head over there." He jumped off the counter, landing on the ground silently.  
  
Barbara smiled. "So tomorrow?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Hey, Tim. Thanks for your help tonight. I owe you one."  
  
"Nah. It was enough to know that when the all powerful 'Oracle' needs help cracking some code, that she calls me." He gave her a big toothy grin. Classic Robin, no matter who's behind the mask. "Okay, well I guess I'll see ya tomorrow." He began to leave but stopped. "And hey, get some sleep, k?"  
  
She waited for a moment, knowing that she wouldn't be getting any sleep at all, but she also knew that if she didn't agree with the Boy Wonder, he would never leave. "Okay."  
  
Almost as soon as Robin left, Nightwing showed up.  
  
"Hey Elder Boy Wonder."  
  
Nightwing smiled at the endearment. She had called him that more times than he could count. But each time it brought him back to when they stood side by side. He mentally shook himself wanting desperately to forget what she lost, what they lost.  
  
He plopped the files on her dining room table. "Just as promised."  
  
Barbara had suddenly gone into full Oracle mode. She rolled her way to the table and opened the first file. Nightwing watched as her eyes covered the words, taking everything in. She flipped through a number of pages before she was finally caught off guard. She yawned, even though she didn't want to.  
  
"Alright," Nightwing said and took the files from her.  
  
"Hey!" she growled.  
  
"Hey nothing. You need to get some sleep. There's nothing in those files that won't be there in the morning."  
  
"But I'm not tired," she lied.  
  
"Yes, you are. Now get your butt into bed. That's an order."  
  
"Since when do I take orders from you?"  
  
His resolve didn't wave. "Either you roll your self into your room and go to bed, or I'm going to carry you there. And believe me, the second option isn't as romantic as it sounds."  
  
She shot him a dirty look. But she honestly didn't have the strength to argue with him at the moment.  
  
"I don't have to be back in Blüdhaven until Saturday, so I won't be leaving until late Friday night."  
  
"Good. I'll be using you before then," she said over her shoulder as she made her way toward her bedroom. "I want you to help Robin tomorrow. I'll have him get a hold of you." She said her last words just seconds before she closed her bedroom door.  
  
Nightwing smiled, he had gotten his way. He straightened up all the papers on the table and left them, making his way into the living area. He sat down on the couch.  
  
"Did everything go okay tonight?"  
  
Cassandra, who Nightwing figured had been awake since he arrived, was sitting on the couch with a blanket over her lap. She nodded.  
  
The silence set in as they sat on the couch together. Finally Cassandra spoke, and it was the last thing in the world that Nightwing had expected her to say.  
  
"You will have to tell her. About tonight."  
  
He shook his head in confusion. "About tonight?"  
  
"The woman. The agent. You will have to tell Oracle about her. Eventually."  
  
"But how did you-?" This had been the third time that night that a woman had surprised him. But Cassandra just smiled.  
  
"Sleep."  
  
Nightwing wasn't sure whether or not she was telling him to sleep, or letting him know that she wanted to sleep, but either way, he knew it was time for him to call it a night. He stood, giving the couch back to Cassandra.  
  
He turned and nodded to the young girl. "Alright. I'll see you later."  
  
"Goodnight, Nightwing." She pulled her blanket up across her shoulders.  
  
He smiled. "Goodnight, Batgirl." 


	13. Big Badda Boom

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
As for my enquiry concerning Bruce and Sasha, because of the downpour of responses . all of one!!! . I've decided to totally screw up the time line and have Gordon still as commish and yet have Sasha Bruce's bodyguard. (Actually it really didn't take any convincing, because I wanted to do it anyway, and well I like getting my way.) Sooooooo . yeah, and if you read this story, REVIEW IT!!!! I love getting reviews. And if you have some ideas for improvement send them my way. I'm an equal opportunity writer. I'm happy with praises, but I also take constructive criticisms to heart. Besides, I won't know if you're reading this unless you review.  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
Arrest Warrants. You would think they would be easier to come by then they actually are. There are so many different hoops a cop has to jump through to get one, especially on someone as rich as James Ewing.  
  
"They said there was no probable cause."  
  
Officer Tommy Burke cringed. That poor table. It was one of the few furniture pieces that had survived the quake, and it had been there almost as long as James Gordon himself. And one of these days it was going to collapse beneath the strength of the Commissioner's fists.  
  
"What the hell?! No probable cause?! The man held a gun to one of my detectives! That's probable cause for me!"  
  
Burke remained standing, knowing he needed to add something. "It's not your fault Commish. It's the politicians."  
  
Commissioner Gordon sighed and slumped down in his chair. "I know. I remember when the politicians were noble. When the DA and the GCPD worked together. When they were good men."  
  
"Like Harvey Dent?"  
  
Both Gordon and Burke looked up to find Detective Stan Kitch leaning against the doorframe of Gordon's office.  
  
"Yes," Jim said slowly. "Like Harvey Dent."  
  
"Well not so much anymore," Kitch added. "I've got some info on that John Doe that the Feds have tried oh so hard to keep our noses out of. It seems they have a suspect."  
  
Gordon sat up straight. This was the best thing that had happened to him all morning. "Who?"  
  
"Our once upon a time noble politician, Harvey Dent."  
  
Gordon sighed. He should have seen that one coming. "Two-Face is still in Arkaham."  
  
"But sir, his influence doesn't stop at those walls."  
  
Gordon knew all too well how true that was. "Well, look into it. See what you can find."  
  
"Yes sir." And Kitch quickly left the office.  
  
Even if this lead was a dead end, Gordon now had some idea of what the Feds were looking for. At least he wouldn't be completely in the dark when he met up with that Agent Thomas. Gordon looked up and realized that Burke was still in his office.  
  
Knowing he had the Commissioner's attention again, he spoke. "What should we do about Jimmy Ewing's arrest warrant?"  
  
He thought for a moment, then smiled. "Put Bullock on it. If anyone can find probable cause, it'll be him."  
  
Gordon looked down at the mountains of papers on his desk, letting Burke know he was excused. This was more than anyone could deal with this early in the morning, especially because Gordon had only had one cup of coffee.  
  
"Good morning Miss Gordon," the Commissioner heard Burke say. He smiled when he heard his daughter's voice answer the greeting. Then Burke continued, trying to keep his voice from carrying. "He's in his office. But be careful, he's in one of his moods."  
  
"Isn't he always?" Gordon's smile grew.  
  
Gordon stood, and he was no longer the Commissioner. His was simply James Gordon, father. "Barbara."  
  
Her red head peered around the frame of the door. "Daddy," she smiled.  
  
Gordon made his way around his desk quickly to meet with his daughter. She rolled herself into his office. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "You're late," he said smiling.  
  
"It's 8:02, Dad," she laughed. "I'm not late."  
  
"There are three rules here at Central. If you're early, you're on time, if you're on time, you're late, and if you're late, don't bother showing up at all."  
  
Barbara laughed at her father's antics. "Okay Dad. Are you ready to go?"  
  
He turned back to his desk and grabbed his jacket. Barbara smiled to herself. It could have been a hundred degrees outside, and he would still wear that long trench coat.  
  
"Now I'm ready."  
  
His smile faded only seconds before it happened. Everything seemed to fall into slow motion, swirling around the room.  
  
An Explosion.  
  
The sound was almost deafening. Concrete scraped against linoleum. Glass shattered. Somewhere down on the street something ignited, creating a smaller explosion, sending roaring flames up the side of Central and into the now open windows.  
  
"Oh my God!" Gordon heard his daughter's voice. Then nothing. 


	14. The Partner

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
I feel as if these little messages to the readers are meant to convey some insightful part of the writers' life, and I don't think I have accomplished that as of yet, so I will attempt to now. Flergle frapin monkey shnickt. Thank you.  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
Agent Thomas rolled over to get a face full of sunshine. She groaned. It was coming in from some open window, and it was bright. Way too bright. She pulled the pillow over her head, blocking the rays. There we go, she thought. I can sleep for at least another hour.  
  
She curled her legs up closer to her chest and sighed. Her mind wondered to the night before. She was alone in the bed. That figured. It was never like them to hang around. But last night she could have sworn he would be different.  
  
Oh, who was she kidding. He met all the requirements she needed the night before. He was there. It didn't matter they had a past. And that was probably all she was to him as well. A one night stand. An easy fuck.  
  
She sighed again, pushing all the air out of her lungs. You always do this, she told herself. You always push them away. Distance yourself.  
  
Her cell phone rang. An almost welcome interruption. A way to get her mind off of things, although it did mean sleep was out of the question.  
  
Thomas picked up the phone and held it to her ear, the pillow still over her head.  
  
"Thomas here."  
  
"Did I wake you up?" the man's voice on the other end asked.  
  
"Hicks," she said recognizing the voice as her partner. "I thought you were going to call me last night."  
  
"Yeah, sorry about that. I got tied up at the office. I was trying to get you a car, which by the way I did, but it proved to be a little bit more difficult getting you a nice one, seeing as how the AD was hesitant to give the ok because your last one ended up without a windshield."  
  
"That was not my fault," Thomas said defensively, throwing the pillow across the bed. "The guy came at me with a baseball bat. What was I supposed to do, let him hit me?"  
  
"Right. Well, anyway, I pulled a few strings, I got you a pretty nice ride. The guys at the Gotham branch were supposed to drop it off first thing this morning. They probably have the keys at the front desk."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
"See, what would you do without a partner like me?"  
  
Thomas laughed weakly. "I don't even want to think about it."  
  
"So how's it going?"  
  
"I hate this city," Thomas said grabbing a courtesy robe next to the bed.  
  
"That well?"  
  
Thomas sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed, wrapping herself in the robe. "When are you gonna be in town?"  
  
"It's only an hour flight, so I should be in Gotham by eleven thirty."  
  
She stood and wandered over to the small table. She frowned. The original files weren't there. She gritted her teeth realizing what happened. That bastard, she thought. He took the files.  
  
"Thomas?"  
  
She shook her head realizing he had been talking to her. "Yeah, I'm here."  
  
"I asked if you were picking me up."  
  
"Oh, yeah. No problem. We can grab something to eat."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
The lights in the hotel flickered for a moment, and then she heard it. An explosion somewhere in the city. It was so loud Hicks heard it over the phone.  
  
"What the hell was that?"  
  
Thomas raced to the window. "Oh my God," she gasped. A giant mushroom of smoke billowed into the sky. The explosion had to be just a short mile away. She scanned the horizon and spotted two more puffs of smoke rolling toward the sky.  
  
"Hicks, I gotta go." 


	15. Aspirin and Coffee

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
This is one of the first chapters I wrote, it was part of the reason I wanted to write this story. I love writing for members of the GCPD. They kick my ass!!  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
Tylenol, Advil, Aspirin, anything. That's all Detective Renee Montoya needed. That and a very large cup of coffee. She wished she could blame the blast for her headache and lack of sleep, but in truth it had nothing to do with it.  
  
She had spent the previous night on the graveyard shift, midnight to dawn with her partner, Detective Harvey Bullock. Her headache hit just before three thirty in the middle of a shouting match between some drunk and Bullock. About five minutes in to it, she began pitying the drunk.  
  
She finally got home a few minutes past five, and after a quick shower she was in bed. Unfortunately she had forgotten to change her alarm and it went off a quarter after six. After that she couldn't get back to sleep. At a half past seven, when the explosion went off downtown, she knew her chances for sleep were shot.  
  
Now she was rummaging around in a squad car's glove box hoping to find something to relieve her headache.  
  
"Detective Montoya?"  
  
She cringed hearing her name. "What?" she snapped at the rookie cop.  
  
A little more cautiously he continued. "The Commissioner's looking for you."  
  
She climbed out of the car muttering in Spanish under her breath. "Do you have any Aspirin?"  
  
"No m'am."  
  
"Can you find me some?" she said more as a demand than a request. "And get me some coffee," she added.  
  
"Right away."  
  
Montoya found the Commissioner sitting on the back of an ambulance. His shirt was open and a medic was having great difficulty tending to his wounds. His arms were flailing in emphasis, pointing to different areas and people as he spoke, or rather yelled orders to an officer.  
  
"And where the hell are Montoya and Bullock?!"  
  
"Right here," Montoya said making her way over to the ambulance. The Commissioner stood when he saw her, and the medic raised his arms in defeat giving up on him.  
  
"The National Guard has been contacted, but four other bombs went off this morning, all in more populated areas than here, so we're on our own for the time being. I want you and Bullock-" He stopped and looked around. "Where's Bullock?"  
  
"He's on his way."  
  
Gordon sighed. "When he gets here, tell him that you two will be heading up the search and rescue team. They're getting a tent up on the corner of Church and 5th and pulling any doctors we can get our hands on. Send any survivors there."  
  
"Alright."  
  
When she didn't move right away, the Commissioner lost his patients.  
  
"Today Detective!"  
  
"Yes sir," She smiled for the first time that morning as she turned her back on Gordon. She nodded and headed off toward the group of officers gathering around a squad car. One of the officers was holding a megaphone out for her as she approached. "Thanks," she said to the officer. She grabbed the megaphone and jumped up on the hood of one of the unmanned police cars. "Listen up!" Her voice carried down the streets and everyone fell silent. "I want four groups! Two groups start on the east end of the road on either side, and the other two groups do the same on the west end! I want ever building searched. There is to be no door unopened, no room unchecked. I want ever brick on this street turned over! Am I understood?"  
  
There was a rumble of yes sirs.  
  
"Move out!"  
  
Once everyone started moving Montoya jumped off the car, almost falling into Bullock.  
  
"Nice speech."  
  
"Harvey, you look like hell." And he really did. His eyes were red and puffy. The stubble on his face was beginning to take over into a beard. And even the toothpick he was always gnawing on looked like it had seen better days.  
  
He looked up at her from underneath his eyebrows. "So do you." He looked around him then shouted. "Can we get some damn coffee over here?!" 


	16. Relief

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
I had to bring Leslie in, I just love that woman. She's one of the few people who can stand up to Bruce. Oh and by the way, you still haven't seen all of the characters yet. Yey for more bad guys!!  
  
Oh and a little comic side note, Jim Lee rocks my world!!! Go pick up the new Batman #608. The new story arc "Hush" looks absolutely amazing, and the art . blow me away, it's so great!!!  
  
"No offense to any other pencilers out there, but c'mon, this is Jim- freakin'-Lee we're talking about here! No one can touch him when he draws women, and I just had to see his rendition of Poison Ivy!" --Jeph Loeb, new 'Batman' writer  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
Dinah Lance couldn't believe the destruction. The two buildings next to Central were completely obliterated. About a dozen officers were rummaging around the rubble, hoping to find some kind of sign of life.  
  
Dinah picked up her pace, making her way toward the large white tent set up at the corner of Church and 5th. Every cot under the tent was occupied with people bandaged and bleeding.  
  
"Get out of the way, lady!"  
  
Dinah almost tripped, catching herself at the last second. A man carrying a young boy in his arms raced by her, heading straight for the tent.  
  
"Doctor! He needs a doctor!" the man yelled not knowing where to go.  
  
A gray haired woman, running faster than her age should have permitted her, rushed to the boy.  
  
"Put him down here," she guided him to a table. "What happened?"  
  
"Falling glass I think. He's cut up real bad."  
  
"I need Lactated Ringers solution," she demanded as she ripped the boy's shirt open. The man stared blankly at the doctor. "The bag right there!" she yelled getting frustrated.  
  
Dinah peered around one of the poles holding the tent up and watched the man hook the bag of liquids over a metal pole.  
  
"You," the woman said looking straight at Dinah. "Can you help me?"  
  
Before Dinah could even finish her nod, the woman grabbed her arm pulling her over to the boy.  
  
"Here," she said shoving Dinah's hands over the boy's wound. "Keep pressure on it."  
  
"Dr. Thompkins, do you have any more pain killers?" Dinah recognized the voice.  
  
"Babs?" Dinah turned her head, keeping her hands over the boy.  
  
"Dinah? What are you doing here?"  
  
"Looking for you, actually."  
  
"There's some in the medical bag underneath that table," Dr. Thompkins explained, pulling out suture materials. "Ok, I'm going to sew him up."  
  
Dinah moved aside letting the doctor stitch the boy's cuts.  
  
"There's a sink over here," Barbara said, grabbing the medical bag.  
  
Dinah looked down at her hands, they were covered in blood, as were her clothes. "Thanks," she muttered. Barbara guided her to a portable sink. Dinah washed her hands, trying to get the red off her skin. "I got what you wanted," Dinah said with her back to Barbara. "I went to your place but you weren't there. Then I remembered you were going to have breakfast with your father. I was worried."  
  
"I can take care of myself," Barbara said handing some pills to one of the patients.  
  
"I know, I was just worried."  
  
A car pulled up next to the tent, and it caught the attention of both Barbara and Dinah. A woman climbed out of the vehicle and Barbara recognized her immediately. She was the FBI Agent Nightwing had gotten information from the night before.  
  
"Commissioner Gordon?" Thomas asked, spying him speaking to one of his officers. He looked up recognizing the Fed immediately.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I'm Special Agent Thomas. I'm here working on the-"  
  
"I know why you're here," the commissioner snapped. He was obviously having a bad day.  
  
"If you need any help, anything at all-"  
  
"We don't need your kind of help." He turned back to his officer. "Let's move out!" Followed by a group of a dozen people, volunteers mostly, Gordon made his way down the street and out of sight.  
  
Thomas stood in the middle of the street feeling utterly helpless. Everything around her was falling apart, and she was denied the opportunity to help.  
  
This is pointless, Thomas thought. How am I supposed to work with these people if they won't even give me a chance?  
  
"Excuse me." A voice pulled Thomas back to the present. The woman calling to her was confined to a wheel chair. "I don't share the commissioner's point of view. We need all the help we can get. If you're up to it, we could use a hand." The woman pointed to the Medical tent behind her.  
  
"Of course," Thomas said jogging over to the woman.  
  
"I'm Barbara. And you?" the redhead asked rolling her chair underneath the tent's shade.  
  
"Agent Thomas of the FBI."  
  
Barbara stopped and stared at her.  
  
Thomas' head dropped for a moment. "Beth."  
  
"Well, Beth," Barbara said handing her a pair of latex gloves. "You can start with the cuts and bruises over there. Get the wounds clean and wrapped."  
  
A faint smile crept along her lips. Finally, something was going right. 


	17. Self Impressed, Spoiled Brat

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
Hehehe, it's Bruce!!! I don't know if he would actually do this, but I thought it was funny, so I wrote it. Anyway I know that twinged isn't a word . but I'm going to use it anyway . so there! So now I'm going for ten reviews . just ten. Hehehe, I live off of reviews, they're like the drug that keeps me going. And if you feel the need, check out some of my other stuff :) and review that too. Ok, enough of the spazness that is me. On with the story!  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
"On three. One. Two. Three!" Detective Montoya's voice shouted as the small group of men and women attempted to lift the large slab of concrete off the street.  
  
A shallow yelp emanated from beneath the heavy object.  
  
"My God, there's someone under there!" Bullock tried to pull the heavy object up further but it was too heavy.  
  
"Higher!" Montoya yelled, putting in all her strength.  
  
"It's slipping!"  
  
"I can't hold on much longer!"  
  
Montoya could feel the cold edges of the concrete digging into her hands. Her back muscles twinged with all the power she could muster. She was going to lose it, and probably crush whoever it was.  
  
"Oh my God," she breathed. She closed her eyes and tried to just hold on, for just a second more, something had to happen.  
  
All of a sudden the weight on her arms was cut in half. She opened her eyes and couldn't believe what she was seeing. Bruce Wayne. He was cut up, and had a few bumps and bruises, but otherwise looked fine. Montoya could see his muscles through a gash in his shirt across his arm. He lifted the concrete slab up almost two feet higher.  
  
"Pull her out," Wayne growled through gritted teeth.  
  
Montoya nodded, and ducked under the piece of building. As quickly as she could she glanced around, trying to find some sign of life.  
  
"Hurry," she heard someone say.  
  
Then she saw her. The woman's hand was about the only part of her that could be seen.  
  
"It's gonna be ok," she told the woman. Montoya grabbed her hand and pulled as hard, and gently as she could at the same time. There was another squeal of pain, but the figure came into view with each pull. With one last yank, Montoya pulled the woman out onto the sidewalk, away from the wreckage.  
  
"Ok!" Bullock yelled, and the slab fell to the ground, cracking up two of the edges. "Get her to the MED tent, now!" Bullock yelled at one of the officers. The man nodded and picked the frail woman up, disappearing down the street. "Are you alright?" Bullock asked helping Montoya off the ground.  
  
She mostly picked herself up, and stood to face Wayne. "Thanks to you." She stared at him in awe. She had no idea there was a real man beneath all that billionaire bullshit. She stuck her hand out for him to shake.  
  
Bruce Wayne shot her a boyish grin, and stepped forward to receive her hand.  
  
"Woop," with the quick gasp, Wayne tripped over god knows what, and fell face first into Detective Montoya.  
  
My gosh he's bigger than he looks, Montoya thought to herself, trying to put the playboy back on his feet.  
  
"I'm so sorry," he bumbled his hands trying to straighten himself up, one hand carelessly on her stomach and the other, flat across her breast.  
  
Montoya pushed the man away, putting enough space between the two of them. She wiped her pants off overdramatically.  
  
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He tried straightening himself up.  
  
Ok, she was wrong, there really wasn't a real man beneath all the billionaire bullshit. He just happened to be at the right place at the right time. He was still a spoiled brat, who just copped a feel.  
  
"I think you should go to the MED tent as well," Montoya directed, exasperated. "Get those cuts looked at."  
  
He gave her a faint smile then turned his back on her. Montoya stopped, catching a glimpse of his face. His eyes were twinkling mischievously and across his lips was a self-impressed grin. That bastard! He meant to do that. 


	18. Honor Amongst Thieves

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
It's my Two-Face again!! Gotta love him!  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
The smoke hung thick in the air, clinging to the countless designer's names. And on Two-Face, it was Armani. But other than the well-tailored black and white suit, he was repulsed by everything else around him.  
  
"At least you have good taste in clothing. Because your taste in location and company leaves something to be desired."  
  
The short stout man who Two-Face was speaking to, was sitting on a chair that was much too big for him, with two black haired women on either arm.  
  
"Why Harvey, I do believe that was something resembling a complement."  
  
"Don't push your luck, Cobblepot."  
  
"Well," the Penguin said standing. He knew the pleasantries never lasted long with Two-Face. They hated each other, but there really was honor amongst thieves. "Unless you require anything else, mon visage deux, I do believe my debt to you is paid in full."  
  
The smirk on Two-Face's good side, made Penguin's stomach sink. "Not quite."  
  
Penguin panicked, vaguely aware of his two bodyguards prepared to pull their guns, so well hidden beneath their dresses. But his eyes rolled back in his head with the realization, and he smiled. "Of course." Penguin snapped his fingers, and a tall blond wearing a tight, short black dress appeared with a silver tray. She lifted the lid with a bright smile, revealing two guns.  
  
Two-Face was down to business. He took the guns, the silver one in his right hand, the black in his left. He placed each weapon in either side of his slacks. "Now your debt to me is paid in full." He turned, and the men on either side of him turned with him.  
  
"Harvey," the Penguin called, his curiosity getting the best of him. Two- Face stopped and looked over his shoulder, refusing to turn completely around. "If you don't mind my asking," he continued. "Where are you off to now?"  
  
Two-Faced turned his gaze away from the flightless bird and took three purposeful steps. He smiled an almost sardonic smile and threw his plans over his shoulder. "There's someone we have to visit." 


	19. If God Would Send His Angels

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
Oh my gosh, I am sooooo sorry it took me so long to get my next chapter up. First I had no computer for a while, and then total writer's block. But everything's ok now. Anyway, sorry again!  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
Gotham began her daily battle with the dark, each building fighting with artificial sunlight as it refused to be swallowed by the night. The soft glow of the halogen searchlight flooded 5th Avenue and cast moving shadows along the stone buildings.  
  
At the edge of the blast damage, knelt on top one of the buildings, Nightwing gazed through a pair of binoculars at the white med tent.  
  
Without moving he closed his eyes hearing the soft landing behind him.  
  
"I thought you had given up on that a long time ago," Batman's voice was solid and his all emotion was hidden.  
  
Turning his attention back to the occupants of the tent, Nightwing clenched his teeth, forcing a response. "Given up on what?"  
  
"Watching her. You've been doing it all day."  
  
The binoculars dropped from Nightwing's face. "And that means you've been watching me all day."  
  
"Oracle sent the test results on the chemicals Black Canary acquired."  
  
Ignoring Batman's complete change of subject, Nightwing let it be. "Experimental narcotics. It has Blockbuster written all over it."  
  
"You think Agent Thomas knows something?"  
  
Nightwing sighed, stealing one more glance at his quarry. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "But I'll find out."  
  
"She's not the same person she was before," Batman warned.  
  
Nightwing stood and faced his previous mentor. "Neither am I." He pushed pasted the Dark Knight, hitting his shoulder on the way. Batman gave, slightly, letting the younger man pass.  
  
He doesn't know what he's getting into, Batman thought to himself. He never did.  
  
Batman made his way to the edge of the building and peered down in the mess of a street. He clenched his fist. Who ever did this would pay. No one hurt his city without a price.  
  
Batman dove off the building and landed unnoticed behind the med tent. There were three bodies lined up on a table. They didn't make it through the day, and were now waiting for their families to come claim them.  
  
The pain, he felt it inside. Eating at him.  
  
"You cannot be everywhere at once, Master Bruce." The familiar voice of Bruce Wayne's oldest friend, Batman's most trusted confident, rang through his head.  
  
Alfred was right, as always.  
  
Batman couldn't be everywhere at once. But he was sure that if circumstances were different, if he had just looked harder, maybe he could have prevented this from happening. If only he was in this part of the city instead of schmoozing with the mayor over breakfast. Maybe he could have saved these people's lives.  
  
It was the same feeling he had when he thought of his parents. This didn't have to happen.  
  
It didn't have to happen to anyone. His thoughts suddenly went to Agent Thomas. It didn't have to happen to her.  
  
She wasn't Agent Thomas then, she was just a girl. A dumb runaway. And this time he was even there. Right place, right time. He could have stopped him. Batman could have stopped the man, prevented those children from being murdered, saved that girl's life, her soul. But he didn't. He made a mistake and went by the facts instead of a gut feeling. And he paid for it.  
  
No. She paid for it.  
  
Batman couldn't help but remember the look on her face. She held nothing but hate for him. If he had stopped that man before he kidnapped her, those children would still be alive. But he didn't. He let the man go, and he tainted that innocent girl's life.  
  
Watching a person kill changes you. Batman knew that all too well. He had promised himself that no one else would go through what he went through. But he failed. It was his fault.  
  
Batman took one last look at the three lifeless bodies lying like rag dolls on the ground. There was nothing more he could do for them. He looked up, following the massive stone of the cathedral in front of him with his eyes.  
  
God, send us your angels. 


	20. Faith

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
Ok, because I was so long getting chapter 19 up, I have decided to go ahead and give you guys three chapters at once, so I hope you enjoy!  
  
And by the way, I'm not Catholic, but after doing some thinking, the Wayne's would be. After going to St. Patrick's Cathedral in New York, I have wanted one of my characters be Catholic, hence Thomas being Catholic. And besides I love some of the prayers the Catholics have!!  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
Hail Mary full of Grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. Amen.  
  
It had been over a decade since she recited those words, but they ran through Thomas' head unbidden.  
  
She wasn't exactly sure why she had found her way to this cathedral. Something was calling her there.  
  
It was old, and the dust from the fallen buildings outside had made its way into a blanket on the pews. Thomas forced herself to look up at the crucifix, but something below it caught her eye first.  
  
Batman.  
  
He was kneeling on the steps with his head down. His cape surrounded him like a shroud. Thomas bit her lip. Something about the scene before her pulled at her heart. It hurt.  
  
This wasn't a hopeful man looking to a God. No, this was an angry man looking for a God. A God that he didn't even believe existed.  
  
"When did you lose your faith?" Her voice echoed through the cathedral up to the belfry.  
  
In all his years behind the cowl, he could still count the times he had been startled on one hand. But tonight he should have known better. He dropped his defenses and the sudden voice shook him. He remained unmoved though, not showing his surprise.  
  
She had caught him off guard and he couldn't think of anything to say, so he told her the truth. "I was eight years old."  
  
He could feel her sigh deep within his bones. "So young," she spoke quietly.  
  
He cringed. He didn't want her pity, didn't deserve it. He lowered his eyes to the ground. "When did you lose yours?"  
  
"The day before you found me. I was lying in the dark. I couldn't even feel the pain anymore. Simply forgotten." There was a pause, and behind his closed eyes the Batman could see her. It was an image that he could never forget. So young, he thought. Then she continued, flipping the words as if they meant nothing. "That's when I knew there was no God."  
  
The silence hung ominously. Thomas' eyes found their way up to the crucifix.  
  
"I haven't forgiven you."  
  
Batman turned around slowly. Agent Thomas watched the muscles in his jaw contract. He was fighting with himself for something to say. When his words finally came they were riddled with guilt and anger. "And I haven't forgiven myself."  
  
As you shouldn't, Thomas thought bitterly. "By the way," she could hear her voice getting cocky, "your partner-Nightwing, I think is what you're calling him now-he has some of my things, and I would like them back."  
  
"Agent Thomas?!"  
  
Thomas jumped at the sudden yell of her name. She turned to the back of the sanctuary. Within seconds following the voice, a man wearing a suit, that looked as if it had seen better days, rounded the corner.  
  
"Jesus, Thomas. I've been looking all over this city for you." The man ran his fingers through the dark blonde mop on his head. He raised his eyebrows waiting for an explanation from his partner.  
  
Thomas hit herself in the head. "I forgot about the airport. Hicks, I'm sorry."  
  
"That's alright, I can find myself a ride. But I was more worried about you. I couldn't get through to your cell and you haven't been back to the hotel. If something happened to you, I'd never forgive myself."  
  
Forgiveness.  
  
Thomas whipped her head around. The Batman was gone.  
  
"Thomas, are you alright?" Hicks asked craning his neck to follow Thomas' line of sight.  
  
She shook her head. "I'm fine."  
  
"Good," he said, sounding like he didn't believe it. "Because if you're up to it. I've got a lead."  
  
Thomas turned, happy for the distraction. "What did you get?"  
  
Agent Hicks was suddenly down to business. "Well, there were four explosions at the same time this morning. All using binary liquids stolen from Star Labs in Metropolis. Gotta love those guy's imaginations. Anyway, the weird thing was, each explosion used about twenty pounds of this stuff, except for the fourth one. The GC Bomb Squad only found traces of about two pounds."  
  
"Where did that one go off?"  
  
Hicks smiled. "Arkham Asylum." 


	21. Ace's Wild

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
I HAVE BEEN WAITING SO LONG TO POST THIS CHAPTER!!!! I love this chapter. The Joker is one of my favorite characters to write for. Probably because he's so insane. Anyway I hope you like this chapter as much as I do!  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
Her skin was light, a rather pretty color. It looked like, like whipped cream. The Joker's eyes narrowed and he licked his lips. I wonder if she tastes like cream, he thought as he watcher her and her partner conversing. The man didn't look like he could take a joke, but this woman . she might just have some hope.  
  
To the Joker's immense surprise the highly non-comical, triple pain, bulletproof glass door moved to one side. For some reason this reminded him of that movie. The one where the man ate the people he killed. Not an entirely funny movie, but when that Hannibal guy cut off the face of that guard and wore it like a mask . now that was funny. Reminded him of his own little escapade with Dr. Nybakken's ears.  
  
He laughed thinking about it. This startled the man, but not the woman. Joker was beginning to like her more and more. The door shut behind them and one of the bigger guards. Now it was just the four of them.  
  
"Joker," the woman spoke first and her voice was smooth. Maybe she was made totally up of cream. That would be tasty. "I'm Agent Thomas, of the FBI, and this is my partner Agent Hicks."  
  
The Joker's grin grew. "FBI? Wow! First, the big explosion that threw me through a wall this morning, and now this. Aren't I the lucky one?"  
  
"Actually, that's why we're here."  
  
"Because of me being thrown through a wall? How thoughtful." He touched his head where the bandages still remained. He sniffled a little bit, trying his best impression of someone on their death bed. "Doc says I'm gonna be ok. It'll just," sniffle, "take some time."  
  
"Look, Clown. We didn't come here to put up with your antics. We came to get some information."  
  
This Hickey guy was getting on his nerves. The Joker scowled, well as much as he could. "I don't like you. Do not speak again."  
  
The woman agent put her hand on her partner's shoulder, stopping him from saying whatever it was he was going to say, then she spoke again. The Joker really liked her voice.  
  
"You know that Harvey Dent, Two-Face," she clarified. As if there would be any other Harvey Dent around these parts. "he was in the cell next to you, the one where the explosion was?"  
  
"Oh yes. He probably has a headache the size of Canada right now." Joker laughed. Canada was funny.  
  
"You know he's no longer here in Arkham, right?"  
  
He laughed, but this time without humor. "He must have had outside help. That's the only way I can figure he got out. Either that or he sold his soul to the devil. I heard Harvey talking about him once or twice, in his sleep." The Joker cupped his hand and whispered to the lady fed. "I think he might be insane." The Joker's laugh came from deep within his throat this time.  
  
Hicks scoffed. "Come on Thomas, he's not gonna tell us anything."  
  
She ignored her partner and addressed Joker one last time. "Two-Face didn't tell you anything, like what he was planning on doing once he was out? Anything that could help."  
  
The Joker put on a thoughtful face. "The only thing of any importance that I learned from Dent in the past few months . is that if you're going to hell make sure you speak Espanol, because I think the devil is Spanish." He crossed his legs, laid his hands gently over his knees, and flashed them a toothy grin, very pleased with himself.  
  
"We're done here. Open the door." The male agent tapped on the glass. It obliged and opened. The guard went first, followed by Hicks and a reluctant Thomas.  
  
The Joker saw his opportunity and moved quickly. He jumped up and before either of the Feds knew what was coming, Joker pushed the door as hard as he could. To his pleasure, beneath the Hick man's scream, he heard the door click. He was stuck, at least until someone opened the door. But that gave him plenty of time to do what he wanted.  
  
He pushed the agent lady's head against the glass, pushing her hard enough so she couldn't move, but not hard enough to hurt her. Badly. For a fleeting moment he wished he could have seen her face from the other side of the glass. All flat and squished. But right now he wanted to see about something else. To see if she really did taste like cream.  
  
He stuck his tongue out and licked the side of her face, from the bottom of her jaw line, up her cheek, into the wrinkles of her clenched eye, and over her forehead right up to her hairline. He opened his mouth wider, taking his tongue, and her taste back into his mouth. He licked his lips not allowing any trace of it to escape.  
  
Hmmm, he thought. She didn't taste like cream at all . no, she tasted like strawberries.  
  
The door clicked again, opening with the Hickey man's yelp. Joker knew his fun was over, so he kissed the lady's ear, letting his tongue flicker again inside the folds. He heard the charging of the shock poles, and he fell to the ground, not even feeling the electricity flowing through his body. He looked over at his hand and saw it twitching.  
  
It had turned out to be a pretty good day. 


	22. As Good as it Gets?

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
Okay, I figure that all of y'all are smart enough to figure out that the dialogue between theses guys are spoken in another language other than English, and of course, in this case, it would be Spanish. So yeah, you guys all probably knew that, but just in case. Anyway, bla bla bla, sorry this chapter took so long, but I've been having some issues writing, I hope I'm over it. But we'll see.  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
All it took was the order from the Commissioner to go home, and Montoya was on her way. She didn't even argue with him. Exhaustion had begun to set in hours earlier.  
  
"You can drop me off here," she said already unbuckling her seat belt.  
  
"You sure?" The roughness in Bullock's voice seemed to slip away just a bit.  
  
"Yeah, I need some aspirin, and I'm out at my place."  
  
"Alright." He stopped the car in front of the small store. "Get some sleep," Montoya's partner demanded. Then he added, "I'll see ya tomorrow," just before she shut the door.  
  
As the car drove off, the detective pulled her keys out, and flipped through them until she found the familiar gold one. She glanced up at the sign across the window, Montoya's Grocery, before she drug her feet around to the back.  
  
She went to unlock the door, but stopped. It was already open. Her father never left the door unlocked.  
  
Hugging the wall, she could feel her breathing speed up, her chest rising and falling at an elevated pace. She pulled her gun out in front of her and closed her eyes for just a moment. She mentally calmed herself, preparing her for the worst. She gripped the door handle and turned slowly. She waited until it hit the wall, then just like she had done thousands of times she flipped around the corner and held her gun in front of her, ready for anything.  
  
She stopped spotting a figured hunched down behind the cash register.  
  
"Freeze!" Montoya's voice filled the small grocery story. "Stand up slowly, and keep your hands where I can see them!"  
  
The man did as he was told, and stood with his hands raised. Montoya squinted trying to make out the man's face.  
  
Renee asked. She reached for the lights and switched them on. It was her father.   
  
He started to laugh.   
  
Renee laughed, holstering her gun. I  
  
I heard about the explosion. Benny said he saw you on the tv. I wish you would have called us.  
  
Renee grabbed a bottle of Advil and water. I'm sorry, Poppa. I was sort of busy. She opened the bottle, struggling for just a moment on the child safety.  
  
I mean, you don't want to leave someone at home not knowing where you are.  
  
She pulled the cotton out from on top of the pills, and shoved it in her pocket.   
  
Rolling her eyes, she took a swig of the water. It was always the same thing with him. Renee bent over and kissed her father on the top of his head.   
  
She left the shop ignoring her father's mumblings on how she should be running her life. But it wasn't his choice, she told herself.  
  
Arguing with her father in her head, Renee walked the three blocks to her apartment. Renee remembered overhearing a conversation her parents were having just a few days earlier. Her father was convinced she didn't want to live a normal life.  
  
Renee sighed as she finally reached her apartment.  
  
The keys clanked noisily as they hit the wood stand next to the front door. Her gun followed. Renee sighed, resting her back against the closed door. This city was too fast, things were ever changing. As a detective, she could never sleep, never rest and she would still be missing so much. And she hated it.  
  
That's why she came home to an empty apartment every night. There weren't enough hours in the day, days in the week.  
  
Her father was wrong. It wasn't that she didn't want a husband, a family, it was just . just .  
  
A soft groan escaped her throat. What she would give to have a husband right now. It had been so long since she had been with a man, been . happy. She could feel the longing deep in her stomach.  
  
Sleep. She just needed some sleep. With all the strength she had left, she pushed herself away from the door and started into the dark, empty apartment.  
  
She was so lost in her thoughts, she didn't even hear the breathing of the person behind her until he grabbed her, his hand across her mouth.  
  
Renee's heart skipped a beat. Her gun was at least eight feet from her, and she could tell by the angle of the man's arm, he was taller than her, quite a bit taller. And stronger.  
  
Behind her she heard a soft laugh, and her eyes widened. She would know that laugh anywhere. Two-Face.  
  
"If I let you go ." he breathed on her neck, tracing her jaw line with a finger, "will you scream?"  
  
She fought to prevent her eyes from closing in his touch. No, she thought, I wouldn't scream. She shook her head, reassuring Two-Face.  
  
"Good," he almost cooed in her ear. Slowly he slid his hand from her mouth down her neck and across her shoulder. This time her eyes did flutter shut. She could barely remember the last time she had seen Harvey without a piece of glass between them, when he touched her, but she knew it didn't feel like this. This was amazing. And all she wanted was more.  
  
His strong hands found themselves over taunt muscles along Renee's shoulder and back. Deft fingers pushed into the knots, and slowly worked the tension out.  
  
A million and one thoughts were flying threw Renee's head. This was wrong. This was so wrong.  
  
"Mmm," her voice barely escaped her throat as Harvey's hand dove deeper into her muscles. She could feel him shifting his weight. He was moving closer to her, his head bent almost to her neck. He was ... he was ... Two- Face!  
  
"No!" Montoya gasped taking a huge step away from him. She flipped around finally thinking clearly. "Harvey, what are you doing here?"  
  
He stood in front of her for a moment, not exactly knowing what to say. Slowly he shoved his hands deep in his suit pockets. "I need your help." 


	23. Learn From Your Past, or be Doomed to Re...

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Sometime after NML, but before the "Bruce Wayne Murder?" series.  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
"Ouch!"  
  
Agent Thomas couldn't help but smile, Hicks reminded her so much of her brother at that moment. "I'm sorry," she spoke as she finished wrapping the ace bandage around her partner's hand. He pulled his wounded hand up to his chest in a protective manner. "Well, Hicks," she said turning back around to reach at the first aid pack lying on the hotel bed, "at least it isn't broken."  
  
Hicks sighed, "Yeah, right." He watched as Thomas cleaned up the mess they had made. "Oh, Thomas."  
  
She stopped and faced him, slightly startled. "What?"  
  
"He must have hit you pretty hard against the glass." He raised his hand and touched her cheek gently. She had a bruise across her cheekbone. It stung slightly. As soon as Hicks removed his hand, Thomas put her hand up to it, and sure enough, the more pressure, the more pain.  
  
Thomas went to the mirror on the closet across form the bed, looking at the nice blue ring forming. Her eyes glanced over to the reflection of the muted television reporting the news of the earlier bombs. She quickly averted her eyes to her partner's reflection. He had his back turned to her, and his shirt opened. Raising his hands above his head, resting them momentarily on his messy blonde hair, he let out a deep low sigh.  
  
"Did you talk to the guys at the morgue?"  
  
The dull ache in the back of Thomas' head suddenly re-sparked. She rested her forehead against the mirror. "No. I-got sidetracked."  
  
He turned around and watched his partner leaning against the mirror. "It's alright," Hicks reassured her. "I'll stop by there tomorrow. You should go to the police department, find out everything the commissioner knows. They might have some info we don't."  
  
"Right," Thomas said, hitting her head on the mirror. "Like they'll listen to me."  
  
Hicks laid his good hand over her shoulder. "Since when have you been one to give up?"  
  
She turned to face him, and smiled. "Yeah, I guess you're right. I just hate this city. And I haven't had any sleep."  
  
This time Hicks laughed out loud. "Yeah, you should get some sleep. You look like crap."  
  
Thomas turned around to face him. "Thanks," she blurted sarcastically, rolling her eyes.  
  
He smiled his retort. His features softened, and for a moment he looked more tired than Thomas had seen him in a long time. He rested his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the door. "I'll come by your room in the morning before I leave."  
  
Reluctantly, Thomas nodded, she really did need sleep. "Then I'll see you in the morning," she said, grabbing her jacket.  
  
"Don't worry," he said once she was out of the room. He leaned on the partway-open door. "Everything'll be better in the morning."  
  
Thomas smiled again weakly. "Goodnight."  
  
The hallway seemed so long, and yet nothing changed. Every door, every panel of wall was exactly the same. She sighed, wishing for her own apartment, her own bed. With an unwilling body she was forced to drag her feet down four doors to the room with the gold numbers 1731 on the door. She had to swipe the card three times before went through and unlocked the door.  
  
"I miss keys," she said under her breath and pushed the door open with her shoulder. She kicked off her shoes and dropped her coat just behind the closed door. A bath would be good, she thought and began unbuttoning her blouse, ready to be rid of anything that reminded her of the day she had.  
  
She flipped the lights on and froze.  
  
The French doors were opened wide, leaving the long white curtains to dance in the breeze and surround a dark figure. He stood perfectly still, his starlite lenses glowing in the dark behind them. He took a step forward into the light of the hotel room.  
  
"Nightwing," Thomas spat through her teeth. "What the hell are you doing here?"  
  
"I got your message," Nightwing said glancing over to the table. She followed his gaze, only to see the files that he had taken.  
  
She wanted to yell at him for taking them, she wanted to slap him and tell him to leave, she wanted to say, or do anything other than just stand there, her shirt open.  
  
Getting bolder, he took a commanding step forward, and then another until he was right in front of her.  
  
"I heard you went to Arkham," he said in a smooth tone. He tilted his head, his eyes drifting to her cheekbone. He grazed the bruised flesh with his gloved fingertips in the same manner Hicks had just a few minutes ago. But this touch had a completely different effect on her. "Are you okay?"  
  
She didn't step back, but she turned her head away from his touch. Why are you acting like you care? she wondered bitterly, masking the feelings he was already beginning to entice. She concentrated on it so much the bitterness seeped into her spoken words. "Yeah, I'm fine."  
  
Looking somewhat hurt he pulled his hand from her. "Did you get any information?"  
  
"I'm not sure. Maybe." Thomas turned her back to him. "But no one else is giving me any information either," she shot sharply. "You and your . kind," she said flipping her hand in the air. "And the Commissioner wants less to do with me than your boss, if that's possible." Thomas rolled her eyes. She grabbed a tank top and a pair of sweats and disappeared into the bathroom.  
  
Nightwing stood in the middle of the hotel room, not exactly sure what he should be doing.  
  
Thomas stared at the open door from well inside the bathroom for a moment, debating on whether or not she should shut it. She gritted her teeth. She wasn't going to let him make her uncomfortable. Defiantly she took her shirt and pants off, and just stood in front of the mirror wearing her panties and bra.  
  
"I think the Joker might have overheard something." She said it without even thinking. She wasn't intending on sharing information with him, but for some reason it just came out as she readied herself for bed. "I just don't think he knows what it is." Padding on bare feet, she came out of the bathroom completely changed, her hair up in a loose ponytail. She dropped onto her bed, letting herself fall onto her back and close her eyes. "I don't think I know what it is either."  
  
She laid there running what the Joker had said over in her head. There were pieces, but they didn't seem to fit together. She frowned, realizing she didn't hear the other occupant of the room anymore.  
  
She opened her eyes and sat up, to find Nightwing standing right in front of her. She leaned back slightly, and let her eyes float up to his lips. His tongue flitted out over his dry lips, wetting them.  
  
Don't kiss him, she thought as he stood in front of her. Don't kiss him, she repeated. Don't kiss him.  
  
He kneeled down in front of her, resting his hands on her legs.  
  
Kick him out, she told herself. Make him leave. Do something. Do anything!  
  
He pressed his lips to hers, hoping, searching for something. Somehow he managed to coax Thomas' lips apart, allowing his tongue entrance, but she still wasn't kissing him back.  
  
Don't kiss him, she thought as the last rational shred of hope disappeared.  
  
His gloved hands found their way up underneath her shirt and over the smooth skin of her back. Thomas closed her eyes as he pulled her to the edge of the bed and into his arms. Standing her up, Nightwing ran his fingers across her bare arms.  
  
Finally she kissed back, grabbing at his arms. A familiar need rising in her stomach. She wanted him, wanted to taste him.  
  
This is so wrong, she thought. She wasn't supposed to need a man. She wasn't supposed to need anything. I'm going to be punished for this in the morning, she kept thinking. I'm gonna go to hell.  
  
Hell. The Devil.  
  
"Diablo," she spoke pulling away from him.  
  
"What?" The devil? Nightwing wondered. Women shouldn't be thinking of that while I'm kissing them.  
  
"The Joker, he said the devil was Spanish. Los Diablos." The connection hit Nightwing just a fraction behind Thomas. "Two-Face was talking about Los Diablos." Thomas headed straight for the small round table. Grabbing a pad of paper she collapsed on the couch across from the bed. She scratched a few things down on the paper. "What does the gang have to do with-" Thomas looked up, but Nightwing was gone. "Two-Face," she finished to herself. "Damn it Thomas," she spoke aloud. She blew out all of the air in her lungs and rested her head on the back of the couch. "You kissed him." 


	24. Incongruencies in the Ranks

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: Ok, anyone who has read the comics realizes that I've totally screwed over the timeline, having Sasha and Gordon at the same time. But I'm writing this story, so I'm gonna do whatever I damn well please. Soooooo, I'm going to say that it is after NML and before Bruce Wayne Murder? but it's all kind of a jumble of different aspects I wanted, like Gordon still as commish, and Sasha around knowing that Bruce is Bats, (and wow this explanation just got really long, I'm sorry). So yeah, so in a nutshell I screwed with the timeline and I don't really care, so there.  
  
Bla bla bla bla bla. Yeah, so I'm pretty sure incongruencies isn't a word, but congruencies and incongruent are so why isn't incongruencies?!?! The English language is so stupid!! So I'm rebelling, and using it anyway.  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
Oracle ran her hands through her red hair, pulling at the roots. It was so frustrating. She was supposed to have all the answers. She was supposed to be the all-knowing Oracle.  
  
"Ok, read me the MRA number one more time." She peeled her glasses off and rubbed the bridge of her nose.  
  
Barbara could hear the blonde sigh. Black Canary was getting sick of this. Oracle knew it was a waste of Canary's talents, but they needed the information.  
  
"AR604101F3394H," Dinah Lance's voice droned, completely monotone.  
  
Oracle sighed noisily. "Oh, Dinah, this doesn't make sense. Are you sure it's the same stuff?"  
  
"Positive."  
  
"Ok," Oracle finally said, repositioning her glasses on her face. "See if you can get me a sample. I guess I'll have to run some tests."  
  
"Okay. Canary out." And the line fell silent.  
  
Oracle groaned and spun her chair around to face a 32' monitor with a black and white map of Gotham. After punching in a few codes, the screen quickly changed to a grid map of Blüdhaven, then to Metropolis.  
  
"C13, F5," Oracle spoke out loud. The computer recognized the voice command and displayed a bright orange dot in the grid square she specified. Oracle sighed, then spoke again. "Display all records. Window: best fit."  
  
The screen flashed again, this time displaying a smaller scale. The orange dots were found as far north as New York City, east, Baltimore, and now, as far south as Metropolis.  
  
Twenty-seven reported accounts of unexplained deaths, all with the same chemical traces found in the bloodstream. Unfortunately, the chemical was never around long enough for anyone to do any tests on it. Somehow, within a day of being turned over to the morgue, the bodies of the victims disappeared.  
  
Oracle peeled her eyes off of the screen and stretched her neck muscles. She cringed when she heard her spine crack a number of times.  
  
Dinah had better come up with something, she thought to herself. I don't know how many more late nights my body can take.  
  
With that thought, she grabbed her half drunken can of Mountain Dew and took a big drink.  
  
Creeping in as silently as he could, Nightwing smiled at the red head gulping the can of Mountain Dew.  
  
"I think I might have a lead."  
  
Oracle almost spit out her mouthful of pop at Nightwing's sudden presence. "My gosh!" she finally gasped after swallowing. "If you're gonna sneak past all of my systems, at least knock."  
  
He couldn't help the smile that found its way across his features. "Knocking sort of defeats the purpose of sneaking in."  
  
She shot him and unimpressed glare. "You said you had a lead?"  
  
Nightwing flashed her his pearly whites before grabbing a chair. He flipped it around and sat backwards. "There's some kind of connection between Two-Face and the Los Diablos. I'm not exactly sure what it is. I want to talk to the girl. Tonight."  
  
"No." The rumble of the Batman's voice held so much more power than his actual words.  
  
Oracle threw her hands up in defeat. "Oh, I give up!" Oracle cried over exasperated. "I need new equipment," she mumbled rolling her chair to her security systems.  
  
Ignoring the red head, Nightwing turned back to Batman. "I'm serious, where's the girl?"  
  
"She's safe," was Batman's concise reply.  
  
"There's a connection between her and Two-Face. We need to talk to her."  
  
"She'll talk when she's ready."  
  
"This could be the break that we're looking for. She must have seen something that will pin Two-Face to the murder. We need to ask her."  
  
"I said," Batman spoke clearly through clenched teeth, "she'll talk when she's ready.  
  
Nightwing narrowed his eyes as he circled his mentor. "You don't think it's Two-Face, do you?"  
  
"It's not his style. If it was him, there'd be bullet holes."  
  
Nightwing sighed. "What is it about the girl that you're worried about?"  
  
Batman refused to answer him. The only thing Nightwing could do was stare at him. He was taking this way too personally, and Nightwing didn't know if it was because of the girl, or Harvey.  
  
Wihtout another word, the Batman was climbing out of the window. He paused just before lifting his leg to the windowsill.  
  
His voice was suddenly softer. "Keep in touch with the agent." 


	25. Nothing Like the Fury of a Woman's Scorn

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: After NML and before Bruce Wayne Murder?  
  
I LOVE THIS CHAPTER!!! And I hope everyone else does. That's all I have to say.  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
Bruce could hear the sharp slap of heels on the marble floor only seconds before his bedroom door was thrown open, hitting the wall behind it with a force that made him cringe.  
  
"BRUCE!"  
  
He groaned, pulling the covers up over his head. It was too early in the morning to be having this argument, again. The covers were just as quickly ripped away from him. Bruce gave up and opened his eyes to see very a pissed off blonde.  
  
"Who the hell do you think you are?!" Sasha Bordeaux spat. Bruce was surprised by how good her diction was with her teeth clenched so tight.  
  
He sat up and dropped his feet over the edge of the bed. Resting his elbows on his thighs, he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands. He forced himself to look at his bodyguard. She was pacing in front of him, with her hands on her dress suit that covered her hips.  
  
Hmmm, he thought as a smirk crept across his face. She looks good when she's angry. Even more so when she's angry at me.  
  
"Sasha, please-"  
  
She didn't know what pissed her off more, the fact that he was being an ass hole, or that this ass hole was sporting a smile. "Don't 'Sasha, please' me! What the hell happened last night? I did what you told me, and you disappeared. I was looking for you all night."  
  
Bruce raised an eyebrow mischievously. "All night?"  
  
Sasha's face turned a deep color of red. "Why?" she asked, her voice still full of fury, but the volume minimized. "Why do you do this to me? Why did you put me in that suit? Make me hide behind that mask and dance this dance, if you're not going to let me do what I'm paid to do." Bruce turned his head so he was no longer looking at her. "That's right. Paid. I'm not one of your protégés. I'm not here to learn, to 'fight the good fight.' So tell me. Why?"  
  
"You get in my way. I was trying to do my job last night," Bruce said sidestepping the question.  
  
"And I was *trying* to do my job! Damn it!" She collapsed in a chair next to his bed. "If you don't want me here, why don't you just fire me?"  
  
Bruce solidified the blank expression Batman was known for outside of the cowl, and looked up, refusing to continue this conversation.  
  
"Fine!" she growled standing up. "Fine." She looked back at the chair she was sitting in and eyed the clothes he was wearing the day before. She took his shirt in her fist, crinkling the fabric between her fingers. "I will not give you what you want. I will not quit." She moved her jaw from side to side, feeling the muscles twinge. She threw the shirt, and it hit Bruce in the face. He turned his head slightly and the shirt fell into his lap. With her shoulders back, she marched to his door, gabbing it on her way. "So fuck you, Bruce. I'm still here."  
  
The door slammed behind her. 


	26. Rain of the Minh Dynasty

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: After NML and before Bruce Wayne Murder?  
  
Wow, ok, a couple things to say. First of all ... I UPDATED!!!! WOOO WHOOO!!! Look at me go! Well, I've finally had a stroke of wanting to write more. It so weird writing a story that you already have the ending to, you just need to get there. So yeah, I've got this chapter done, and a couple more on the way. So if anyone is still reading this (which if you wanted to let me know, you could always post a review and just give me a 'hey I'm still around' note that'd be cool) please check back in a few for another couple of updates.  
  
Second of all, I want to apologize for the racist remark in this chapter. I'm probably the least racist person I know, but I want to stay true to characters, and well, Jimmy Ewing would think that way, so yeah, please don't be offended.  
  
Thirdly, it's good to be writing on this story again.  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
The sudden pang of nausea was what pulled Jimmy Ewing out of sleep. Opening his eyes he winced. The slivers of morning that crept in through the tiny gaps in the drapes stung.  
  
It must have been a good party, he thought to himself, pulling his arms from underneath the two sleeping figures on either side of him. He couldn't place either the blonde or the brunette, but judging by the total lack of clothing on either girl, or himself for that matter, he figured the night before he had known them. At least biblically.  
  
As the second wave of nausea hit, Jimmy stumbled off the edge of the bed, not even trying to avoid the woman to his left. She grunted as he crawled over her, but wrapped herself tighter in the comforter and drifted back into unconsciousness. He stumbled his way into the bathroom.  
  
Lifting the lid of the toilet he stood swaying a little, and tried to decide what he wanted to do first; empty his bladder or purge his stomach.  
  
His knees finally decided for him and gave out. He dropped with a sickening slap on the tile floor and vomited, only half making it in the toilet bowl. A retched smell filled the bathroom, despite its size. Jimmy hit the switch to the fan hoping to rid his nostrils of the rotten food and tequila stench, but it burned from inside his mouth.  
  
After swishing some mouthwash, and relieving his bladder, he staggered back into his bedroom. His personal assistant, whom Jimmy haddn't even noticed was in the room earlier, was waiting for his boss holding out a silk robe.  
  
Jimmy took the robe only to throw it back down into a wing-backed chair. "Pay them double what they were charging." Jimmy was already on his way out of his bedroom. He never liked to mess with the morning after business. It was much simpler to assign someone else to manage it.  
  
"Um ... sir?"  
  
Jimmy turned, squinting as the lamplight found his eyes. "What?"  
  
"They're not hookers."  
  
"What?"  
  
"They were a gift."  
  
Jimmy frowned. "From who?"  
  
The man just shrugged his shoulders.  
  
Jimmy's mouth went cotton dry. He slowly turned around, getting a better look at his bed, and the two occupants. The brunette was beginning to stir. She sat up, and Jimmy couldn't help the sharp intake of air.  
  
The girl was half Chinese.  
  
It didn't matter how sloshed he was, there was no way in hell he would willingly choose a Chink. They scared the shit out of him. Not to mention the possible connection with his most dangerous enemy, Freddy Minh.  
  
Wide eyed, he glanced to the other girl. She was white.  
  
Barely openeing her eyes, she caught Jimmy watching her. "Hey baby, why don't you come back and I can warm you up?"  
  
The brunette started laughing. The blonde wasn't working with her.  
  
"Get the fuck out of my bed!" He grabbed the blonde by the hair and pulled her onto the floor.  
  
The brunette laughed even harder. In contrast with the blonde's scurrying to find her clothes and get out of Jimmy's bedroom, the brunette climbed gracefully out of the bed unashamed of her completely nude state.  
  
"Did Freddy Minh send you?"  
  
Lazily, she pulled on Jimmy's silk robe from the seat of the wing-backed chair. Shrugging her shoulders into the material, she turned back to Jimmy, who was waiting for a response impatiently. Taking her time, she watched the blonde hastily leave the room, letting the bedroom door slam behind her.  
  
"I have a message for you," she spoke evenly. "What you are doing is not going unnoticed. And if you continue, you will be faced with more than Minh's messages."  
  
Try as he may to hide it, Jimmy was shaken.  
  
Knowing that she had made her point more than clear, she made her exit, stopping just as she reached the bedroom door.  
  
"And Mr. Ewing, you were terrible in bed."  
  
The brunette shut the door a fraction of a second before a lamp crashed against the wall. Jimmy collapsed on his mattress, rubbing his temples.  
  
This was not going to be a good day. 


	27. Rise and Shine Mr Drake

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.  
  
Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, James Ewing, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.  
  
Timeline: After NML and before Bruce Wayne Murder?  
  
I hate getting sick!!! I swear, the only good thing is that with all my bed-riddenness I have a great opportunity to write. So I hope you like my NyQuil induced piece of writing.  
  
And a thanks to Bishopx for the review!! No sir, you rock! (and if you haven't heard that Papa Murphy's commercial that won't be funny)  
  
Oh, and a comic side note ... Babs is seriously pissing me off!!! She's not on my happy list right now. If you're wondering what on earth I'm talking about, go check out BoP 60 and Nightwing 86.  
  
Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!!!  
  
* * *  
  
"Tim! Tim!" The voice floated through Timothy Drake's halfway open bedroom door. The teen rolled over grumbling.  
  
"What?" he croaked out.  
  
"Tim!" the voice yelled again, and this time he recognized it as his step- mom, Dana. "Steph's here!"  
  
A half second later, his bedroom door flew open and a blonde bounded in, landing on Tim's bed.  
  
"Good morning!" She was way too chipper.  
  
Tim threw the blanket over his head. "Steph, too early," Tim grumbled from underneath the covers.  
  
Stephanie Brown pulled the blanket off of the black haired boy. With a quick kiss on the cheek, she poked him until he sat up.  
  
"Okay, okay. What is so important that you had to wake me up at ..." Tim glanced at the clock. "Eleven fourty-five?" He sighed. "I really need to go to bed earlier."  
  
Stephanie shook her head ignoring Tim. "I think we should take a trip to Blüdhaven."  
  
"Blüdhaven?" Tim blinked a few times, trying to calm his messy hair. "No offense, Steph, but Blüdhaven isn't the ideal vacation spot."  
  
She shot him a look of dumbfounded obviousness. "I was thinking less Timothy Drake and Stephanie Brown, and more Robin and Spoiler," she whispered.  
  
"Oh," he said, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "Why?"  
  
"Well, two nights ago there was a big fire fight between a couple of gangs."  
  
"Yeah, I know. I was there." He threw off the covers and climbed out of his bed. Steph took an appreciative glance at the boy in his boxers just before he threw on a robe.  
  
Pulling her legs up underneath her, she turned to get a better look at her boyfriend. "Ok, but did you know that one of gangs was from the 'Haven? And they were fighting over territory?"  
  
Tim's face told Steph he didn't know. "Over territory for what?" he asked.  
  
"I'm not a hundred percent sure, but word has it, drugs. And one of Freddy Minh's girls was seen at a big party last night."  
  
Tim frowned, lowering himself into his desk chair. "Freddy Minh is dead."  
  
"Dead?"  
  
"His wife killed him, a few years ago."  
  
"All right. Is there some kind of Bat-news letter that I forgot to subscribe to?"  
  
"Sorry Steph, I thought you knew. Madame Minh now runs the show."  
  
"A woman drug lord, cool."  
  
Tim frowned and tilted his head. "Cool?"  
  
Steph just shrugged. "Yeah well, I still think it might be something to look into. So do you think we could find a place to crash in the 'Haven?"  
  
"Yeah no problem. Now the question is, will we get the ok?"  
  
"You worried Batman won't let you?"  
  
"Batman?" Tim shook his head. "No. He won't have a problem with it. I just don't think 'can I go spend a weekend in the most crime ridden city with my girlfriend so we can bust a drug lord' is gonna be a good way to start a conversation with Dad and Dana."  
  
Stephanie laughed. "Do me a favor? When you ask, don't mention my name. They still like me." 


	28. Sleeping With the Enemy

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, AOL Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.

Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, James Ewing, Carmella and Sammy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.

TIMELINE: After NML and before Bruce Wayne Murder?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well, I'm finally here in Los Angeles going to film school at Loyola Marymount University. I've been here in California for six weeks, in school for five and I'm loving every minute of it! It's a lot different living away from my family and in a house full of girls (seeing as how I've grown up with boys my entire life), and I have given new meaning to "poor college student."

So anyway, the whole reason for telling y'all that, is to kinda explain why I've been on a hiatus from writing. None of my stories have been getting any attention. So now that things have kinda calmed down and become fairly regular I can get on writing again. So look for updates on this and my other stories!

Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!

XXXXXXXXXX

The last time Renee Montoya had a full breakfast she was still living at home. It was her brother's thirteenth birthday, if she remembered correctly. Her mother had made pancakes, bacon, eggs, toast, and hot cocoa, per her brother's request.

But that had been almost a lifetime ago.

Rolling over, Renee pulled the covers off of her head. She took a deep breath through her nose, and she swore she could almost smell the memory of that breakfast.

Then she heard the muffled hiss of eggs hitting a hot frying pan.

She shot up in bed. That wasn't a dream, nor a memory. Someone was making breakfast. And her stomach was telling her, none to subtly, that she was hungry. She stumbled out of her bedroom and froze, staring blurry eyed into her kitchen.

Harvey Dent was standing there wearing sweats and a white tee shirt, wearing neither shoes or socks, cooking, of all things. And for some odd reason, she had the feeling of belonging. This man belonged here.

"Good morning," he greeted flatly.

"Good morning," she sounded more wary than she wanted too. He chose to ignore it. "Did ... did you sleep well?" she asked, the odd nature of this conversation unnerving her.

He nodded.

Quickly running out of things to say, she gave up, and took a seat at her dinning room table. Crossing her legs on the chair, she poured herself a glass of orange juice, which was neatly sitting in the middle of the table. Within seconds, Harvey emerged from the kitchen with two plates full of food.

"Where did you—?" but she stopped, not really wanting to know where he had acquired the food. "Thank you," she decided to say instead.

He disappeared back into the kitchen, only to reemerge holding two smaller plates with cinnamon rolls on them.

"You aren't planning on killing me later, are you?"

He actually smiled. "Not today," he said sitting across the table from her.

They ate in silence, except for a quick comment on the quality of food from Renee, both not really knowing how to start a conversation, or how to continue it once it had begun.

The sound of a heavy knock at her door startled her, making her fork clank noisily onto the plate. A wave of panic crossed Renee's face, as they both stared speechless at one another. Finally she stood and crossed to the door.

Peering through the peephole her heart skipped a beat. It was Detective Bullock. Without even thinking, she just opened the door.

By the time she realized what she had just done, it was too late. Frantically, she scanned her apartment, but Harvey was nowhere in sight.

"Mmmm, smells good," Bullock was already pushing past her toward the dinning room. "So," he started, already dishing up a plate full of food. "The commish re-assigned us."

"We have to have a case to be re-assigned," Montoya diverted as she removed the extra plate, attempting not to draw any attention to it.

"Good point." He snatched a piece of bacon and shoved it in his oversized mouth.

"So ... what is it?" Luckily for her, Bullock had all of his attention on the glass of orange juice he was pouring, which allowed her to quickly scan the room for any other clues of the other occupant of the apartment.

"James Ewing, the slimy little bastard. Everyone knows what he's up to, but no one can prove it. And the DA is receiving a hefty donation from Mr. Ewing to continue with his "Clean the Streets" program. So he's no help."

"And we're supposed to ...?"

"Find probable cause and acquire an arrest warrant."

He made his way toward the tv; both food and orange juice in one hand, but stopped abruptly. There was a blanket and a pillow on the couch where Harvey had slept the night before.

Shit, she swore in her head. She hadn't caught that.

Bullock picked up the corner of the blanket on the couch. It had been obviously occupied the night before.

Montoya's jaw dropped, willing something to come out, but she couldn't think of anything that would explain why someone was sleeping on her couch without more questions.

"You really need a life," Bullock said to her surprise. "I mean, falling asleep on the couch in front of the tv is my turf. You're supposed to be the classy one, remember." He threw the blanket over the back of the couch and plopped down, dropping toast crumbs over the side of his plate.

Montoya let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"Well, you'd better get moving. I wanna get outta here as soon as possible."

She nodded wordlessly, and couldn't get into her bedroom fast enough. She quickly searched her room, but she still didn't find Harvey. He wasn't under the bed, in the closet or out on the balcony.

"Hey Montoya!" Bullock yelled from the living room. "What's wrong with you this morning? I should be hearing the shower running!"

Finally giving up on finding her stowaway, she made her way into the bathroom.

She almost screamed, covering her own mouth just in time. Harvey was standing at his full height just inside the bathroom. He closed the door for her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know he was coming over," she whispered, her hand over her racing heart. "You just stay in here, and after we leave you can come out."

He nodded his agreement.

Bullock pounded on the bathroom door. "Let's move it already! We've got a long day ahead of us!"

Montoya really had no desire to shower with Harvey Dent sitting in her bathroom, but she really couldn't chance him getting caught trying to leave. So she climbed behind the shower curtain and removed her clothing there.

It was the most uncomfortable shower she had ever taken. She had never felt so naked, despite the fact that she was wearing no clothing. The shower curtain, which she now realized was far too transparent, was the only thing between her and Two-Face. She tried desperately to keep her back to where she knew he was sitting, feeling the need to cover herself if she ever had to turn, even three quarters of the way around.

Finally she had gotten all of the conditioner out of her hair, and she shut off the water. She was fully aware of the deep sigh that emanated just beyond her thin curtain. She chose not to analyze it, but it didn't stop her wet skin from breaking out with goose bumps.

She reached out and grabbed her towel, grateful her mother had insisted on buying her the big fluffy ones for her apartment, and quickly wrapped it around her body, not worrying about drying herself off properly first.

Stepping out of the shower, she purposely avoided Harvey's stare. She knew he was looking at her, she could feel it. She grabbed her clothes and disappeared behind the shower curtain again. She put her clothes on as quickly as possible and finally decided she was decent enough to face the man in her bathroom.

Without saying a word, she dried her hair, and attempted to put it up in a ponytail. Her hands were shaking, why she really didn't want to answer. But she was having troubles getting the bumps out of her hair.

"Here," his soft voice was right behind her. His fingers covered hers, and she released the hairbrush. She closed her eyes and couldn't help leaning slightly back into his body. When her mother used to brush her hair it was wonderful, but it had nothing compared to this. It was sensual and relaxing at the same time.

Much too soon, he finished, and tied her hair back with an elastic. "There."

"Who are you?" she asked, staring his reflection down in the mirror.

But there was no way to answer that, so he didn't. He simply ran his hand down her neck and across her shoulder.

She shivered, and then turned to face him. "Will you be here when I get back tonight?"

"I'll try. But no guarantees."

There were a million things she should have told him, asked him, and threatened him with, but not one was coming to mind. So she just nodded her head and turned to the bathroom door.

His hand on her shoulder stopped her. "Be careful."

She covered his hand with her own, a gesture that meant more to him than it did to her. "You too." And with no more than that, she escaped the bathroom with her partner none-the-wiser.


	29. The Pool

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.

Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, James Ewing, Carmella, Sammy, Kirk, Brad (hehehe I've always said I own those two) and Sissy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.

TIMELINE: After NML and before Bruce Wayne Murder?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: oh my good golly. It has been forever and a day. I almost had to wipe off the cobwebs it's been so long since I've updated this thing. And guess what I HAVE MORE! Mwahahahahaa! Well, I've been working on this really hard for the past three weeks, and I think I've finally worked out all the plot holes. I'm still in the writing stage, but I have a lot more done. So once I get the upcoming chapters proofed, I'll be posting those too.

Just a little update on me, I'm heading back home in two weeks, for good. I'm really excited to be with my family again … and to be going back to school. I'm going to have my own computer (YEY YEY WHOOHOOO YEY!) and therefore can continue to write.

I have been taking everyone's comments to heart, and after I'm finally finished posting the whole story, I'm going to go back thru and revamp, changing stupid typos or some of my other special mistakes. Thank you guys again for putting up with me, and I hope you guys will continue to read!

Oh, and did anyone else just adore Batman Begins? They're getting closer, and it makes me soooo happy!

XXXXXXXXXX

Sissy Montgomery was not in a good mood. She had just spent her morning break arguing with her mother over where she worked. So what if she worked in the hospital morgue. It was great experience, and it helped her save up money for med school.

She couldn't help but laugh. She had ended the conversation telling her mom it was her fault for naming her after an actor in a Steven King movie. Her mom didn't take that well.

The dead were just easier to deal with. Sissy hated the living, but she wasn't going to tell her mother that. She already thought she was insane. Well, not all the living. Kirk and Brad were okay. They were like the older brothers she never had, and never seemed to mind her brashness or little eccentricities.

Sissy sighed and waltzed into the break room, her cell phone still clenched in her hand.

Brad looked up at her smiling. "You're back early."

"Carrie comment seems to end the conversation pretty quickly."

"Ah," Kirk said putting a twenty-dollar bill on the table. "If I was going to name my child after an actor, I'd pick a little better name. I mean, come on, Sissy?"

She hit him playfully in the back of the head. "Shut up. So what's it this time?" she asked pointing to the money on the table.

"FBI Agent's coming in today."

"What? You guys got tired of the 'Cause of Death' pool?"

"Are you in or not? We got hair color, height, and weight."

"Twenty says he's bald, six two, medium build." Brad threw his legs up onto the table and caught himself just before he toppled over backwards on his chair.

"You guys are twelve." She rolled her eyes and opened the door.

"Well?" Kirk caught her.

"Okay, fine. Twenty bucks says your agent has light brown hair, about five eight, and a petite athletic build. And he's a she."

"What?" And both men were on their feet at the door. Sissy pointed out into the hallway to where a rather good-looking woman was flashing her badge, announcing that she was from the FBI.

"That's not fair," Brad whined.

"Pay up boys." Kirk retreated to the table where the money was.

"Wait isn't that the Commissioner?" Brad asked.

Both men shoved their way behind the door so eavesdrop.

"Ow, that was my foot!"

"My foot? That's my arm."

"Oh would you two shut up," Sissy hissed in a whisper.

The Agent was approaching the commissioner. "Commissioner."

"Agent Thomas. I suppose you received the same call we did."

"Yes. Apparently two little kids found the body near the river. A decapitated head was found by city workers near the dump about an hour ago. We just received the confirmation that it belonged to the body. It seems it's the same MO as our John Doe, completely cauterized with traces of the same substance in the blood. And Commissioner," she paused, taking a breath. "I would like for the FBI and the GCPD to work together in this."

With his shoulders set, Commissioner Gordon glared at the agent. He was well aware that everyone was waiting for his decision, including his men.

"You can tell your superiors that the they have the full cooperation of the Gotham Police Department. For now. But do not cross me Agent Thomas."

Gordon didn't miss the small smile of relief that flitted over the agent's lips. A moment later, the head corner emerged from his office.

"Commissioner," they shook hands. "I was told you were looking for the headless John Doe?" The Commissioner nodded. "The guys came early this morning and took the body."

"And you just turned it over? Without my authorization!" Gordon spit as he spoke.

The man shrunk immediately. No one couldn't blame him. The commissioner was an intimidating man when he wanted to be.

"They—they, they had written consents. Uh … FBI." He quickly grabbed a clipboard from the lab table and with a shaking hand, held it out for the Commissioner.

"FBI?" He turned to Thomas. "Agent Thomas, explain this." He shoved the clipboard under her nose.

Thomas looked down at the clipboard and saw her own name scribbled at the bottom. "Sir, I had no knowledge of any authorization to remove the body."

"Yeah, right," Detective Bullock said under his breath.

"The FBI no longer has our cooperation." He tore the clipboard out of Thomas' hand. The metal clip caught her palm, slicing the skin. She clenched her hand reflexively, but she didn't say anything.

The commissioner didn't even give her a second look as he stormed out of the door.

"Bullock, Montoya!" he barked, and the detectives followed obediently.

The coroner turned to Thomas clearly at a loss or words. Thomas' hand dropped to her side and neither she nor the coroner notice the blood dripping onto the floor.

Sissy frowned. Something didn't feel right about this. She waited until the everyone had left the hallway and jogged toward the main entrance of the morgue, making sure not to run into any of the cops or her supervisor.

"Hey Mike?" Sissy peered over the counter. "Mikey?" She could hear music coming from head phones, but still couldn't find the boy who was supposed to be behind the counter. She hit the counter. A young man wearing headphones seemed to pop out of no where.

"What?" he asked louder than he needed to.

"Headphones off!" Sissy almost yelled, pointing to her own ears.

Sheepishly, the boy took the headphones off. "Sorry."

"Yeah. Listen, were you here when the fed came to pick of the headless horseman?"

"I was." He looked down at a pad of paper. "An Agent Thomas."

"And this Agent Thomas, what'd she look like?"

"She? It was a man."

"Are you sure?"

He laughed, "I think I can tell the difference between a dude and a chick. Why? Is there something wrong?"

Sissy frowned. "I don't know." She tapped the counter. "Thanks for your help."

She slipped into the only place she knew she wouldn't be followed, the women's bathroom. There were some pluses to being the only woman in a division. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number.

"Hey, it's me. Yeah. You know how you told me to call you if I noticed anything weird going on? Well, something very weird is going on."


	30. Iceberg Lounge

WARNING: This story is rated R (just to be safe) for language, violence, and mild sexual content.

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Batman, Nightwing (even though I'd like to) or any of the related characters. They are owned by WB, Time Warner, and DC Comics. Created by Bob Kane, God rest his soul.

Agent Thomas, Agent Hicks, James Ewing, Carmella, Sammy, Kirk, Brad (hehehe I've always said I own those two) and Sissy, along with the story, though, are mine. Read but do not hurt.

TIMELINE: After NML and before Bruce Wayne Murder?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY! I hope everyone is having fun and getting to play with fireworks.

Anyway, enough of that mumbo jumbo crap, I hope you like! And please review!

XXXXXXXXXX

Thomas glanced down at the photograph in her hand one more time. There was no doubt. It was the same place. The Iceberg Lounge.

Now, Thomas wasn't the kind of person to look a gift horse in the mouth, but she had the sneaking suspicion that someone with a mask had somehow been involved with sending this little piece of luck her way.

When she had returned to her hotel room that afternoon, under the door had been a simple manila envelope with a golden insignia on it, of an iconic human face. She had recognized it immediately. The Oracle. He had been on the FBI's most wanted list for years as history's most notorious hacker.

But the surprises didn't end there. Inside the envelope was a photograph of a man leaving a flashy nightclub, the same flashy nightclub she was now standing in front of.

All it took was a quick flash of her identification, and the mention of three letters, and she was in.

It really was amazing. Obviously everyone in this town was about theatricality. She had heard stories about the place, and even read magazine articles, but seeing it in person was awe-inspiring.

The upscale restaurant/night club was bright and sparkling, like every other fancy place Thomas had seen except for one thing. In the middle of the enormous room was a monstrous iceberg. It reminded her of the Dine with Shamu at Sea World, only no whale. The tables surrounded the area, each next to a glass window into the aquarium, so the patrons could watch the seals and penguins swimming past.

It was barely after three in the afternoon and already the place was packed. Thomas felt undeniably like a child finally allowed to go to the grown up dinner table. But the feeling vanished as a young woman wearing an incredibly short dress that showed off her well toned legs, approached Thomas. Down to business.

"He'll see you," she said simply, and turned on her heel, not even looking back to see if the Agent was following.

The small room Thomas was led into was a perfect juxtaposition to the club. Where as the endless ceilings and the spacious dance floors were in the main room, this office had low ceilings with large furniture, giving the room almost a cozy feel.

Thomas couldn't help but smile as the owner of the club hobbled in. She knew why he preferred the smaller surroundings. He wanted to feel bigger.

Even though he stood just over five feet, he did well to look Thomas in the eye without looking up to her, too much. But the smile, that was so obviously forced, never once reached his demeanor.

"Mr. Cobblepot," Thomas acknowledged as he settled down behind an oak desk.

"My reputation precedes me." He gestured to a chair across from him, and she obliged, taking the seat. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of who is obviously the FBI's most stunning Agent?"

His flattery amused her. "Agent Thomas," she answered without him posing the question. "And I'm here to ask you a few questions."

"Anything to aide the Federal Bureau of Investigation," he said drawing out every syllable. Thomas knew he really didn't mean his words, and the Penguin knew that she knew.

But non-the-less, Thomas pulled out the photograph, sans envelope, and tossed it on the desk directly in front of him.

She could see the strain in his features as he looked down at the picture.

"Do you know who that is?" she asked, referring to the man in the photo.

"Of course I know who it is," he snapped. His smile finally wavered and he settled for a slight scowl. There was no way he would be able to charm his way out of this. "It's Harvey Dent."

"Okay," Thomas said quietly. "So you and I both know he was here, so we don't even have to argue about that. But I also know he's not here now." Thomas slid to the edge of her seat, and leaned gracefully on the desk. "I'm not even going to ask if you had anything to do with his escape, because personally, I don't want to know. So I only have one question. Where is he?"

The Penguin squinted, contemplating his next words. "I am not his keeper."

"Are you sure he didn't tell you anything?" This wasn't working.

"You're wasting your time." And the Penguin crossed his arms over his plum middle, and raised his eyebrows as if a challenge.

Thomas sighed; she really didn't want it to come to this. "Look. I've had a really bad day, and all I want to do is go to bed. You tell me what I need to know, I'm one step closer to going home. If you don't tell me what I need to know, then I'll go back and get my partner from the hotel, we'll have to call for back up, and do a thorough search of the premises. And if we were to find something … incriminating, we'll lets just say it wouldn't be very good for business."

"I honestly don't know where Harvey went. I even asked him, and all he said was that he had someone to visit."

Thomas sighed and pulled her cell phone out. "Yes, may I please speak to Agent Hicks in room 1737?"

"All right!" The Penguin exclaimed over exasperatedly. Thomas hung up her phone. "If you were to ask my uneducated guess, I would suggest you look for that lady cop. I believe Montoya is her name."


End file.
